


Just Once

by trohmoan



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Near-Canon AU, One Night Stands, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), Tour Bus, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 49,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trohmoan/pseuds/trohmoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night after a show in November of 2008, Pete approaches Patrick on the bus after everyone else has gone to bed for a one night thing. Afterwards, Patrick isn't sure he wants it to end then, Pete wants to forget about it, and problems continue to arise. ~completed</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So the first few chapters of this I absolutely hate, but I felt like it was worth posting bc it does get better later on (I hope). Originally posted on Wattpad here: http://www.wattpad.com/story/19471109-just-once-a-peterick-fic

        November 6, 2008 we boarded the tour bus after having played a show at Harper's Ferry in Allston. Joe was the first on, followed by me, then Andy, and Pete last. It had been a fun show. Nothing extraordinary, but fun nonetheless.

        "I'm beat. 'Night guys," Andy told us, immediately heading for his bunk, presumably to sleep.

        "Me too. See you guys in the morning," Pete said, rubbing his eyes and yawning a little before plodding in the same direction as Andy.

        Joe and I simultaneously told them goodnight before settling in to do our own things. I don't know what he did but I headed to the back to change into comfier clothes: a t-shirt and a pair of PJ pants. The smiling snowmen on my pants seemed to gaze back up at me with empty eyes so when I sat down on the couch, I pulled a blanket over my lap to block them from my view and me from their's.

        I let out a sigh and grabbed my laptop from the cushion beside me, earphones already plugged in. I was tired but knew I woudln't be able to sleep. It took me an hour at least after a show to get to sleep and that was on a good night. Messing around in garage band for a couple hours, I finally climbed into my bunk around 2. Joe had gone to bed much earlier than I but Andy and Pete still had him beat.

        A few minutes later, a voice floated up from the bunk beneath me. "Patrick?" Pete spoke my name. I ran a hand through my hair, contemplating pretending to be asleep for a split second but decided against it. Pete knows I can't fall asleep right after climbing into my bunk.

        "Yeah?" I asked with a slight sigh, rolling over so I looked out into the bus. Andy and Joe had both pulled their curtains shut, I realized. That was pretty normal, though.

        It was a moment before he responded, making me wonder if he was rethinking what he planned to say. Then again, Pete didn't do too much planning ahead.

        "Are you nervous about releasing  _Folie_?" he asked me, sounding like he wanted to say something else but had stopped himself.

        "Yeah, a little bit," I told him, nodding even though he couldn't see it. "I always am before we release an album, though." I let out a slight laugh, more of a sudden exhale than a real laugh.

        That statement elicited the same kind of laugh from him, saying, "Yeah, man. Me too." The bus then fell silent, the only sounds echoing through of the tires running along the road and of other cars passing us.

        "Well I'm going to try and get some sleep," I said after a moment, beginning to pull my curtain shut.

        "Wait," he protested suddenly and I could hear him shuffling around before I saw his head pop up above the side of my bunk. He was shirtless, that much I could tell but I couldn't see any lower than his chest due to the bed. That was nothing new, though. Pete was shirtless pretty often on stage even.

        Stepping on the edge of his bed to propel himself up, he climbed into my bunk and positioned himself above me, one knee between my legs and his hands on either side of my head to hold him up. His back was just grazing the ceiling and we were close, our faces inches apart. I could now tell that he had on long pajama pants.

        "Pete? W-what are you doing?" I asked, nervous, confused, and stuttering a little, the last probably a result of the first.

        "Sshh," he whispered, gently pressing a finger to my lips. "Trust me. Just once."

        He didn't move his finger until I nodded, shutting the curtain before his hand returned to it's position beside my head. I didn't know what prompted this in Pete, I mean, I didn't even think he was into guys but... Who knows? Leaning down, he closed the small distance between us and pressed his lips to mine. I almost pushed him off but Pete was my best friend and he'd said to trust him so maybe he had a plan...

        His lips traveled from my lips down to my neck, sucking and biting like he was trying to give me a hickey. I let out a soft groan when he hit  _that_  spot. I could feel him smirk against my neck. My hands moved to his chest, running my fingers across the hard skin.

        Slowly, I felt one of his hands trail down my body, stopping on my hip. Gripping my hip, he began to grind gently against me, unknowingly pulling his loosely tied pajama pants down in the process. It didn't look like he had any underwear on and, shoot me for it, I was enjoying it. I wasn't into guys though...was I?


	2. Chapter 2

        The next morning - er, afternoon - I woke up and Pete had already moved back to his own bunk, pulling the curtain back and leaving no trace of what we'd done the night before except in my memory. That was something that could not be covered up no matter how many curtains you pulled back or pants you put back on.

        What the hell  _was_  that anyway? I mean, I know what happened but  _why_? What had gotten into Pete? We're best friends, for Christ' sake. As far as I know, it's not normal to fuck your best friend. I couldn't blame it all on him, though. I let it happen and as long as I'm thinking that way, why had I?

        Ugh, my head hurts. No one should think this much immediately after they wake up. I sighed, pulling my pajamas back on, pushing the curtain back, and climbing down from my bunk. I could smell coffee at the front of the bus and headed straight for it, pouring myself a cup.

        "'Morning," I mumbled to the guys sitting on the couch with my back still turned. I didn't even have a clue who, if anyone, was sitting there, actually. I said it out of more habit than anything.

     "I think you mean afternoon," came a voice I instantly recognized as Pete's. I tensed, remembering once again what we'd done last night but by the tone of his voice, he wasn't too concerned about it anymore.

        "Yeah, yeah, whatever," I told him, keeping my tone light and joking. "Doubt you were up much earlier than I was though." Turning around with my coffee in hand, I leaned against the counter of our small kitchenette and saw that it was only Pete sitting there, typing away on his laptop. Joe and Andy must either be out somewhere or still sleeping. I was betting on the former since I typically slept the latest, though.

        "By a couple hours but not much," he admitted with a shrug. Glancing up from his computer screen for the first time since I'd turned around, he must've seen what I was wondering on my face because he said, "Andy and Joe went out to kill some time in the city."

        "Oh, okay," I said, nodding slightly as I took a sip of my coffee. I wanted to talk to him about last night but at the same time didn't. I mean, he didn't seem put of by any of it but I sure as hell was. Maybe I should just wait a bit to see if he'll bring it up so I don't have to.

        By the time I'd finished my coffee, he still hadn't brought it up. "I'm going to go get ready for the day, then," I mumbled before heading towards the back of the bus to change.

        I was half naked, having only pulled off my t-shirt before Pete came through the door without even bothering to knock.

        "Do you mind?" I asked him, slightly angry that he'd just barge in like that.

        "Oh please. I've seen it all," he said, waving his hand as if to dismiss the idea. He did have a point. I rolled my eyes, grabbing the shirt I planned to wear today, pulling it on and buttoning it up.

        "But I came back here because we need to talk about this and no one's going to walk in on our discussion here in case Joe and Andy decided to come back early," he explained, pacing slightly as he spoke. Pete seemed nervous and he was  _never_  nervous unless it was huge or he thought he'd really fucked up. If I had to guess, he was thinking the latter. It was like the unconcerned attitude from just minutes earlier had crumbled and fallen to the floor, leaving him a nervous wreck.

        "Well you just did," I mumbled, more to myself than anything about his "no one's going to walk in" idea. Turning my back to him, I slid my pants down and quickly grabbed my skinny jeans, slipping into them and turning back around.

        "Huh?" he asked, sounding distracted, like he couldn't pull himself out of his thoughts.

        "Nothing," I told him, shaking my head. "But, um, since we're back here to talk about it...Why?"

        The question hung there a moment, dangling in the air between is. It was as if Pete didn't want to answer it and I didn't particularly want to hear what he would say. I knew asking was necessary, though, because I enjoyed it and  _god_  did I enjoy Pete. I know he said "Just once" but was he talking about the sex or the "Trust me" that had come right before it? I almost hoped he'd been talking about the trust because I thought I wanted to do that again. Did I though? We'd be putting the band at risk and this band meant everything to me. Pete, though. Pete was my best friend. Was friends with benefits really something I wanted, with Pete of all people?

        "I-I don't know, Pat," he finally said, reaching a hand up and rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes were glued to the floor, like he couldn't stand to look at me. "I don't know."

        I shook my head, sighing and making my way over to the mirror to fix my hair, still messy from sleep and, possibly, Pete. "What was going through your head last night that made you jump up in my bunk?" I asked him, rewording the question to be more specific and facing the mirror, running a brush through my hair.

        Again, there was a hesitation before I got an answer. "That I wanted to experiment?" he said, his words coming out as more of a question than an actual statement.

        Even with the uncertainty, they hit me like a ton of bricks. I had nearly convinced myself that he might've wanted a relationship, I had even  _hoped_ , but I was wrong. It was a one time thing and I should've realized that, I guess. "Just once," he'd said, referring to the sex and not the trust.

        "Oh," was all I could croak out, not able to speak and even if I could, what would I say to that?

        "Pattyca-" he started, sounding like he was going to apologize but I cut him off.

        "No, it's fine. I should've known," I said, grabbing my fedora and walking out of the room. I couldn't bare to look at him, keeping my eyes glued to the floor. Sadness engulfed me but anger soon took it's place. He had just used me, his best friend, for a stupid little experiment.

        "Look, Patrick-" he tried again, emerging from the back room.

        "No, you look, Pete. I'm not some toy. You can't just use me and expect me to move on like that. I'm not like you; I don't go out and have meaningless sex with people I've never met, let alone my best friend." My words were sharp and forceful, a way in which I hardly ever spoke and with that, I stormed off the bus. A walk around the city would do me good, I decided.


	3. Chapter 3

        Pete and I didn't talk after the show that night or on our way back to Chicago the next day. In fact, we hadn't talked at all since I'd walked off the bus unless what was necessary during the show counts. We always did that, though. If we were fighting, the anger disappeared while on stage so we could give the fans the best show possible. Afterwards, we went back to being mad at one another. I don't remember us ever fighting for this long, though. This was serious.

        My thoughts were another story. I couldn't stop thinking about that night and Pete. I wanted us to be more than a one night thing and couldn't help but wonder how he was feeling about it, if his thoughts had changed at all after our fight on the bus.

        There were several times I contemplated calling him but had chickened out before hitting the green call button. I'd typed up countless texts only to delete them before I got up the courage to hit send. I knew I'd have to sooner or later, though. We had another show on the 2nd of December and band practice, meetings, and interviews before that. I couldn't avoid confrontation forever and it'd be better if I called him before practice but I  _really_  didn't want to.

        I was sitting at home, not doing much when my phone buzzed, pulling me out of my thoughts.  _Ding!_  Ironically enough, the display read  _One new text from Petah._

_ >Petah: Are we just going to ignore each other forever?_

        He had a point. It had seemed like forever since we'd talked when in reality, it had only been about a week. Biting my lip, I shot a text back.

_ >I'm sorry. I wanted to text or call you, I just wasn't sure what to say._

_ >Petah: I know and I'm to blame for that. I'm the one that should be sorry. I fucked all this up._

_ >Well I certainly complicated it_

_ >Petah: I guess we're both at fault then._

_ >Yeah, I think so_

        There was a longer pause than normal before Pete replied. Even through text, I could feel the tension between us.

_ >Petah: So what comes next?_

        That was a question I didn't know the answer to but sure as hell wanted to find out. I know what I wanted to happen between us, but I felt as though Pete probably wanted to forget about the whole thing.

        > _I don't know but I'm open to suggestions._

_ >Petah: Would you like to meet me at the record shop a couple blocks from your house in 15 minutes to talk about it?_

        I smiled to myself as I read his text. I had a good feeling about this.

~~~~~~~~

        Pete arrived before I did. Browsing through the titles, he glanced up only after hearing me walk up.

        "Hey Pattycakes. What took you so long?" he asked with a slight smirk, turning away from the shelves and towards me.

        "Oh shut up," I told him, returning the smirk. Even through our playful tones, the tension could be felt. It would be a while before things were back to normal. Then again, I wasn't sure I ever wanted things completely back to normal but that's what we were here to discuss.

        "That would make my being here pointless," he countered, a small smirk still curving his lips and squinting his eyes just enough to let me know he wasn't being entirely serious.

        "Fair enough," I agreed, my smile fading but still there.

        "So... What're you thinking?" he asked, the smile gone, not even a trace of it left.

        "What are you thinking?" I countered, wanting to hear his thoughts before I told him mine. It was a childish move but, quite frankly, I was almost too nervous to even spit mine out.

        "I asked you first," Pete said, an almost forced smirk curving the left side of his mouth.

        I bit my lip, nervous to say what I was about to even though he probably already knew. "Well, I was kinda thinking we should..." I started, pausing before I actually told him. I couldn't hardly bring myself to say it. "...or I at least wanted to...see if we could become something more?" My voice was quiet and timid, like I didn't want him to hear me admit it, and I couldn't meet his eyes

        "Look at me," he said and so I did. Pete was smiling, like he was glad I'd said it. "Patrick Martin Stumph," he started, using my real name and catching me off guard. "Would you do me the honor of being my boyfriend?"

        My lip curved into a smile, as I nodded, saying, "Yes, Pete. Yes, of course."

        That's when he pulled me into a hug, holding me like that in the middle of the record shop, our arms wrapped around one another. He had surprised me; I thought he'd tell me once again that it was just a one night thing and to forget it ever happened. This, though, was a nice surprise, nice being the understatement of the century. "Pete Wentz is my boyfriend" is now something I can say instead of just wish and damn did it feel good.


	4. Chapter 4

        A few days later we were at my apartment, having just finished watching a movie that I'd cried during and Pete hadn't.

        "At least we've already established who the girl is in this relationship," Pete joked, noting our cuddling position. We were on my couch, his arm around my shoulders and me curled up against him, resting my head on his chest. I'd pulled my feet up next to me onto the couch and loosely wrapped an arm around him.

        "Hey, I've got a dick just as much as you do," I told him, feigning offense but unable to keep the smile from my lips. "Just because I'm a little more submissive doesn't mean I'm a girl." I stuck my tongue out at him playfully as if I were two years old.

        "Oh don't worry Pattycakes. You're man enough for me." A small smirk played on his lips as he said that, clearly amused.

        "Psh, I'd better be," I said, smiling a little and Pete laughed, a smirk curving his lips still afterwards.

        "So who do we tell?" I asked him after a moment, serious now. I knew we'd have to let people know about our relationship soon enough and I doubted it would be fun. Shouting it from the rooftops for all to hear didn't sound like a good idea, though.

       "Well we've definitely got to let Andy and Joe know soon," he started and I nodded in agreement. "Our immediate families and really close friends should know, although not immediately. I want to give us some time before my family starts pressuring us to get married after the first date." At that last bit, he laughed a little but it was hollow, like the idea of telling his family about us scared him to death and he was trying to hide it.

        I smiled a little but let it fade before I spoke again. "We'll tell them together and hope both families react well," I said in a meager attempt to reassure him. Quite frankly, I was not looking forward to telling my parents either.

        "There's not much else we could do," he said, leaning down and kissing the top of my head.

        "I don't want to tell the fans," I told him after a moment, more afraid of their reactions than my parents'. They'd either love it and persist with invasive questions or hate it and we'd get death threats again. "At least for quite a while anyway."

        He sighed, nodding and saying, "Yeah, me neither. I mean, I love 'em but I don't think they need to know about us for a decent amount of time."

        We fell into silence after that, just sitting there, content with each other. I wasn't an awkward silence, but rather a comfortable one. It wasn't long before Pete broke it, though.

        "Why'd you let me?" he asked, onto a different topic already. Quite frankly, I much preferred the earlier one.

        The question caught me off guard, though, and I sat up, pulling away a tad. I knew exactly what he meant but I asked anyway. "What do you mean?"

        "Why'd you go along with me? Y'know...On the bus?" he asked, sounding nervous. It was as if he didn't want to actually say it and I found that odd. Pete wasn't one to avoid saying something we both knew.

        I sighed, my eyes falling. "I don't know," I admitted, my voice quiet, just loud enough that I knew Pete would hear. It was the same question I'd been asking myself since then and still didn't have the answer to. The arm he'd had draped around me dropped to his side then, so I pulled mine back too, moving so I was sitting cross legged and facing him a little farther away than I had been before. I couldn't go to much farther, though. The couch was only so big.

        "Why are you with me now?" was his next question. He, too, had his eyes locked on the floor. It was as if a wall had suddenly formed between us and I wasn't a fan of the feeling.

        "Because I enjoyed that night. I thought we made a connection. To me, it felt like more than just sex," I told him, pausing before tacking on a "but I don't know" and a shrug that he probably wouldn't see at the end.

        "Pattycakes, I don't know either. This is foreign territory for me. I don't typically have too many feelings for people I decide to fuck on a whim but I guess I should've seen this coming. You're my best friend. I'd just never given myself the chance to think of you in the way I did that night until then," he said, sounding tired like the whole thing was a burden. A burden that needed to be dealt with yesterday. "Maybe it was a mistake," he suggested, his voice barely audible as if he didn't want to hear himself.

        "What was a mistake? The sex or the decision to date?" I asked, a slightly panicked tone to my words.

        "Both?" he said, his response coming out as more of a question than the answer it was supposed to be.

        "Pete, I don't think either were wrong, let alone both. I like you.  _Really_  like you and if you'd never jumped up in my bunk that night, I never would've realized that or if I did, I would've been too chicken to ever act on it.  _I'm glad you're my boyfriend_ ," I told him, taking his face gently in my hands and forcing him to look at me as I said the last line.

        "Why?" he asked as I dropped my hands back down into my lap. "I'm no good for you; I never have been and quite frankly, I never will be. You deserve somebody that'll be able to treat you like you deserve to be treated. You're an angel and, in all honesty, I'm Satan or at the very least, one of his helpers."

        "Then maybe we balance each other out. We've always fit together with everything else we do, and this is no different," I told him, worried that he was having these thoughts.

        "Writing a song isn't like being in a relationship. They couldn't be more different, really," he countered, shooting me a look that suggested he thought I was crazy or at least on my way to it.

        "I'm not saying the two are alike or even require the same things," I started, explaining what I'd meant to him. "I mean we've always been like two halves, only a whole when we're together. When we do things or create things, they never seem quite right until the other has helped, even if it's just a little bit. Pete, you've always been like the part of me that was missing and I don't think I mean just when it comes to songwriting."

        "You complete me - You know that, right?" he said and I nodded, knowing he had more to say. "I just don't feel like I'm good enough for you; I feel like I've fooled you just long enough for you to think that you might actually like me in this way. There's no legitimate reason for you to  _want_  to be with me." The pain in his voice was audible, almost like it physically hurt him to be saying this and that bothered me. I hated to see him like this or for him to be thinking that.

        "Pete, I don't know what I can say to make you believe me. I want to be with you because lately, all I can think about is you. You've been giving me butterflies when you walk in the room. I get excited when I know I'm going to get to see you because I hate spending time apart and it scares me how fast you've become this to me," I told him, watching his face and gauging his reaction as I spoke. I'd never been great at expressing my feelings and this was no exception by any means but I was doing my best and had to hope it meant something to Pete. I felt like I was about to lose him and that scared me to death.

        He pulled me into a hug, wrapping his arms around me tightly so I did the same, just maybe not quite as tight.

        "I couldn't stand to lose you, Pete," I told him while his face was buried in my chest, arms holding me as close as possible.


	5. Chapter 5

        "Hey, 'Trick. You're late," I heard as I arrived at band practice. Andy had said it and was smiling at me as I walked into the space.

        "I know, I know. I overslept. Told you we shouldn't have had it this early," I shot back, returning the smile.

        "Dude, it's noon," Joe said as if that was late.

        "Your point?"

        Practice went well and by the end, we were sitting around, deciding on setlists for our upcoming December shows. That was one of the the hardest parts about releasing an album: debuting the new material live. Pete didn't sweat it much but the rest of us got nervous.

         _Folie_  felt like it might be different, too. Writing it had been harder than normal, after all. I mean, I've never seen Pete's lyrics this strong before but the creative differences we'd all faced in the studio were immense. This felt like Fall Out Boy but it felt different and I didn't know how else to explain it. To say the least, I was nervous.

        We'd decided on a couple setlists by the end and were just sitting around, talking a little when I glanced at Pete, asking him a question with my eyes. "Should we tell them?"

        He subtly nodded before I turned to Joe and Andy, directing the question to Pete, too. "So do you guys want to come back to my place and hang out for a bit? Maybe watch a movie? They just added  _Rambo_  to Netflix."

        They all three nodded, agreeing. "Alright, well I guess I'll see you all in a few minutes then."

        Within 20 minutes, we'd all arrived at my apartment and were getting ready to watch the movie. Andy was making popcorn, Pete was looking for the movie on Netflix, Joe was raiding my candy although I didn't have much, and I was gathering a few blankets.

        "So before we start the movie, can I talk to you guys about something?" Pete asked when everyone had gathered in the living room, Andy and Joe on one couch and Pete and me on the other. He stood up, directly in front of the TV, facing the opposite couch.

        Andy and Joe glanced at each other, like they knew what he was about to say. "Yeah, sure. What is it?" Joe spoke up, both of then turning their gazes back to Pete.

        He glanced back over his shoulder at me and I stood up, taking his hand in mine and standing next to me. "We're....together," I said with a timid smile, no clue how they'd react.

        "Told you they would," Joe said, looking over at Andy with a smirk.

        "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever," he responded, unable to hide his smile.

        "Now I'm wishing we'd bet money like you'd wanted to," Joe said, still smirking.

        "Wait, what the hell is going on here?" Pete spoke up, looking between the two. I was lost and, judging by his question, I'm guessing Pete was too.

        "Well, I thought you two would end up together after the other night on the bus and Andy didn't think you would," Joe explained, shrugging.

        The other night on the bus? Did they...  _Oh shit._

        "Y-you guys heard us?" I asked, feeling my cheeks heat up. They must've been a fire engine red by now.

        "Well you kinda woke us up," Andy said, still smiling at us like he'd just won the lottery. He'd lost the bet. Why was he so happy? Not that I'm complaining, it just seems like Joe should be the one beaming at us.

        I was definitely the reddest I'd ever been by now, my eyes locked on the floor.

        "Oh yeah?" Pete said. I could hear the smile in his voice, like he was proud of himself. "I had Patrick singing more than he had during the show that night, didn't I?"

        My gaze shot up to Pete, my cheeks burning. Playfully, I punched him in the shoulder just hard enough to get my point across.

        "Ew, ew, ew. I'm almost as grossed out as I was during the actual thing," Andy said, furiously shaking his head and waving his hands in front of his face. There was still a smile curving his lips, though. He was happy for us.

        "Hell yeah! Nice job, man," Joe said with a smile matching Pete's. Standing up, he gave my boyfriend a high five and I rolled my eyes. "Oh, c'mon 'Trick. You sounded good at least."

        "Shut up," I told him, blushing still. It didn't seem like the blush would ever leave at this point.

        "C'mon, let's just watch the movie," Andy said, grabbing a blanket and pulling it over himself as Joe grabbed the remote and Pete and I sat back down.

        Joe had clicked on  _The Pianist_  instead of  _Rambo_ , like I'd suggested earlier. I shot him an odd look and so did the other two in the room evidently, because he glanced around at all of us as he said, "Oh c'mon. This is ten times better than  _Rambo_. You'll love it."

        I shrugged and curled up next to Pete as the movie started.

~~~~~~~~

        "Fuck, man..." Pete said when the movie was over, shooting Joe another look, as if to ask  _what the hell?_ He had tears streaming down his face, all of us did actually.

        "Did you love it like I told you you would?" he protested, throwing his hands up as if to ward him off.

        "Yeah, but...  _Fuck_. I never cry at movies. That was damaging," Pete told him, wiping a few tears from under his eyes and emitting a slight laugh.

        He rolled his eyes, causing Andy to reach over and hit him in the arm.

        "Don't be like that. You're crying too," Andy said, his voice still a little shaky.

        Joe didn't have a response to that so he just stuck his tongue out at him like a child protesting.

        "I'm never letting you pick the movie again," I finally spoke, my gaze trained on Joe as I sat up, pulling away from my boyfriend and stretching. My body was stiff from being curled up against him in just about the exact same position the entire movie and my bones cracked and popped as I moved, a groan escaping my lips.

        "Damn, you sound like you're either 60 or Pete's fucking you again," Joe commented with a smirk.

        I just blushed, laughing a little. Without even looking at him, I knew a large smile was spread across Pete's face, maybe even a hint of a blush.

        It wasn't long before Andy and Joe said their goodbyes and left. Pete stayed, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind me the moment I had shut the door.

        I smiled softly, resting my hands on his. "What's up, babe?" I asked nonchalantly, tilting my head back to rest on his shoulder.

        "Nothing, just felt like hugging you," he said, his first word coming out as more of a "Nuthin" than the actual word.

        "I think I can live with that," I told him. A slight smirk curved my lips as I delivered the line, my eyes trained on the ceiling.

        "Can you live with this?" he asked after a moment's hesitation, beginning to gently grind himself against me from behind.

        "I don't know, maybe," I said, my breath catching in surprise as my eyes slid closed. Briefly, I wondered what had gotten him in this mood.

        "What about this?" That's when he began kissing my neck, sucking and biting, evidently trying to give me a hickey, as he picked up the pace with his hips.

        "Mmm, Pete..." I moaned softly, dragging out his name a little in response. I could feel the bulge in my pants as well as the one grinding against me growing slightly larger.

        "What do you say we take this up to your bedroom?" he asked, whispering it against my neck like it were a secret.

        "Oh  _hell yes_ ," I told him, my attitude having completely changed from just a few moments ago.


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm outside whenever you're ready_ was the text that woke me up. It was from Pete and he was picking me up for a radio interview this morning. We were going to be late because of me again.

        Hurriedly, I shot back a reply.  _Might want to come in. It's going to be a few minutes._

        I jumped out of bed and stripped off my pajamas before rummaging through my dresser for something to wear today. I'd settled on a blue short sleeved polo and black skinny jeans. Pulling on a pair of shoes, I simultaneous grabbed a light wash jean jacket.

        Rushing downstairs, I saw Pete in the living room. "I woke you up with that text, didn't I?" he asked with a smirk, already knowing the answer.

        I blushed, my cheeks only turning a soft pink, and said, "Yeah, you did but I'm ready now so hopefully we won't be too late."

        "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked, shooting me a funny look.

        "What? No..." I said, thinking a moment before I realized what he'd meant. He knew me too well. I ran back up stairs to my bedroom and grabbed my fedora before we headed out to his car.

        "...fedorable," I heard him mutter as we climbed into the vehicle. I could tell he'd said more, I just hadn't heard it.

        "What was that?" I asked, glancing over at him as I buckled in.

        "Nothing," he said, shaking his head as he started the car, a small, amused smile curving his lips.

        "Mhm, sure," I told him sarcastically as he began driving, both of us grinning. He just laughed but never would tell me what he'd said.

        "Look through here and find something for us to listen to," he told me, popping open the console without ever taking his eyes off the road and revealing a fair amount of CDs from his favorite bands. It didn't take me long to choose, pulling out a copy of The Smiths's  _The Queen is Dead_  and popping it into the slot.

        As soon as the music started, he smiled, recognizing it. "Nice choice," he told me, nodding slightly.

        "Thanks, I thought so too," I said, returning the smile.

        We both sang a little, just softly, on our way to the radio station. Pete did some banging on the steering wheel as if he were drumming, earning some laughs from me.

        "What?" he asked me, wondering why I was laughing.

        "Nothing, nothing at all, Andy," I told him with a smirk, still chucking a little. He just stuck his tongue out at me and continued to drive, occasionally still banging on the steering wheel. He can't even play drums.

        It took us 7 of the ten songs to get to the radio station and we made it just in time. When we walked in, a look of relief passed over the people in the room, like they thought we wouldn't show. I smiled sheepishly as if to apologize and Pete waved.

        "Where are Andy and Joe?" I asked Pete as we waited for our time to go on.

        "They're not doing this one. It's just us, Pat."

        I sighed, nodding. I liked it much better when all four of us were there but that couldn't always be the case. Sometimes one or two of us were busy or sometimes the media only wanted to hear from a couple of us. I never understood that. We were all in the band; we all wrote the music. Why did some of us apparently matter more than others?

        It wasn't long before they brought us into the broadcasting room and sat us down with headphones, a microphone hanging in front of each of us. I put my headphones on upside down like usual and Pete smiled, shaking his head at me.

        "So, today we've got Fall Out Boy's Pete Wentz and Patrick Stump with us here today in anticipation of their fifth studio album,  _Folie à Deux_ , which drops December 16th. You just heard the debut single,  _I Don't Care_. Now, Pete, you write the lyrics, correct?" the radio host said, starting right in with the interview after a short introduction.

        "I write most of the lyrics, yes," he said, nodding slightly.

        "Could you give us a little insight to what  _Folie à Deux_ is about lyrically?"

        "Yeah, sure. I feel like, and I think Patrick would agree with me," he started, glancing over at me. "That it's definitely Fall Out Boy but it's a new turn." That's when I interjected, saying yes, I did in fact agree with him. It wasn't the first time we'd been asked this question so Pete just gave the standard answer. talking about how it was more outwardly aimed. He talked about the world's struggles, rather than our struggles.

        "Patrick, you write a lot of the melodies, correct?"

        "I write some of the music. Andy and Joe help a lot with it too, especially on this album."

        "Could you tell us what this album sounds like then? Is  _I Don't Care_  representative?"

        "Yeah, I think it is. I mean, the music is the same as the lyrics in the way that it's Fall Out Boy but it's a new direction. There's still big choruses but there were more blues influences on this record than say,  _Cork Tree_..." I started. Again, it was a question we'd been asked before. In all honesty, this was a pretty boring interview so far, not only for us, but for the fans too, I imagined. Maybe it would get better.

        It finally did become more interesting a few questions later when the radio host said, "We've had questions coming in on our website from your fans this entire time and there's some good ones on here. This one is from Stefani from Georgia. She wants to know 'Who were your major influences for this album?'" Fan questions were always fun because it felt like somebody really cared about what we had to say when we answered them. It wasn't just some interviewer who didn't give a shit asking us questions.; it was the fans who decided to dedicate their free time to listening to this.

        Pete glanced over at me like he wanted me to answer, so I did. "Each track probably had slightly different influences but one in particular,  _What a Catch_ , is piano driven and, when writing that, I think I drew pretty heavily from Elton John. He's absolutely incredible. Andy, our drummer, really drew pretty heavily from marching band drumwork, especially on the album's opener. Joe's guitar harmonies on the record are pretty reminiscent of  _Queen_. As for his other styles, it reminds me of  _Metallica_  or  _Prince_. Maybe  _The Rolling Stones_. I really love what he's done on this one."

        "Wow, this should be an interesting album. This next one is from Jessica in the UK. 'Any collaborations?'"

        "Nothing huge," Pete spoke up. "We brought several people in for guest vocals. Alexander DeLeon, Gabe Saporta, Debbie Harry... Oh, and Brendon Urie. Neal Avron and Pharrell Williams produced it so that was pretty cool."

        "Judging by the fans' reactions online," the host started, his eyes glued to the computer screen, "They're really loving that you brought in Brendon Urie and Gabe Saporta." That was when we all let out a slight laugh because we had expected that much when it was announced. "This next question from Shelby in the UK caught my eye although it has nothing to do with the album. 'Would you rather never see each other again or never make music again?'"

        "Well, I think I'd have to go with 'never make music again.' I'm not sure I could stand to lose my best friend," Pete said glancing over at me with a smile.

        I spoke up when he was finished, saying, "Yeah, same for me. Both mean tons to me but if I had to choose, I'd have to keep Pete in my life."

        "They're all asking 'Would You Rather's now so I guess we'll play a game of that until time's up," the host said with another slight laugh. "Curtis from Japan asks 'Would you rather have a rewind or pause button for your life?'"

        "Well if rewind means I can do things over rather than just watch them again, rewind definitely," I told him, shrugging a little.

        "I'm going to have to go with pause. I'd rather have the time to think something through before I do it than have to live through it again."

        "Okay, the last question is from Quinn in New York. 'Would you rather fanfiction come to life or walk in on your parents in bed?'"

        Pete glanced over at me and smirked, the entire gesture almost imperceptible. I caught it only because I knew him so well. "Oooh, that's a tough one. Considering how scarring walking in on that would be, I'm gonna have to go with real life fanfiction," he admitted. Before saying the next part, he glanced back over at me and smirked again, this time obvious. "A little bit of Peterick to get the fans going?"

        I blushed fiercely, stuttering slightly when I gave my answer. "I-I'm going to have to agree with Pete on this one."


	7. Chapter 7

        I walked in the conference room a little late, having been running behind on time again this morning. The room was just like all the others we'd been in for meetings over the years: a large table in the middle surrounded by several chairs, a whiteboard on one wall, and a projector on the other. Andy was standing at the whiteboard, drawing something I couldn't see yet. Joe and Pete were sitting in chairs they'd turned towards each other, talking about something that appeared to trouble Pete.

        "Look who's late again," Joe called when he saw me, causing Andy and Pete to turn their heads to look at me.

        "I know, I know," I said, embarrassed. I made my way over to Pete and kissed him, just a quick peck on the lips, before sitting down in one of the many chairs. "So has the meeting not started yet? I fully expected to walk in during the middle of it."

        Pete laughed a little, telling me, "No, babe. It's over already. He shot me a smile, as if to say  _Nice try_.

        "Oh, sorry. Did everything go well at least?" I said, starting apologetically with my tone turning more hopeful by the end.

        "Yeah, I think so. We'll probably be touring in April and May, it looks like and we've got a few shows between then, of course. There really wasn't too much for us to talk about so it was pretty short," Andy informed me, not even turning away from the whiteboard.

        "Yeah, you really didn't miss much but that doesn't mean we won't be giving you shit about it," Joe told me with a smirk.

        "Oh I expected that much," I shot back with a small smile.

        "Don't worry, I'll protect you from them," Pete told me jokingly, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. In doing so, my chair rolled towards his and they bumped into each other.

        "Hey, no PDA!" Joe shouted as if we'd just started making out instead of Pete putting his arm around me.

        In response my boyfriend stuck his tongue out at him and then turned to press his lips to mine. Surprised, it took me a moment before I began moving my lips against his. The kiss was sweet and slow, his lips soft against mine.

        "Yeah, I'm not sure I'll ever get used to that," I heard Andy say, glancing over his shoulder to see what Joe had been shouting about and squirming a little. That's when Pete and I pulled away from each other, laughing.

        "At least we're not constantly attached to each other," I countered, shrugging a little as Pete dropped his arms from around me and my chair rolled away slightly.

        "Yeah, I guess that makes getting used to it easier for us," Joe agreed with me, nodding slightly.

        "And just to clarify," Andy said, turning away from the whiteboard and leaning up against it so I still had no idea what he'd been drawing. "I don't have a problem with you guys being gay or whatever you are, it's just weird seeing two of my best friends together like that."

        "I can understand that. I mean, it's not like it wasn't weird for us too," Pete said with a slight laugh, glancing over at me. I shot him a smile, one side of my mouth curving upwards.

        "I can only imagine. I mean, it'd be like me and Joe getting together," Andy agreed, his eyes widening slightly at the thought as if it scared him.

        "Oh c'mon baby. You know you want it," Joe suggestively said to Andy, a smirk curving his lips after he'd finished speaking to let him know he was joking. Pete and I laughed but Andy squirmed like he had when Pete had kissed me.

        The room fell silent after that and everyone seemed content with it. That is, until Andy spoke up.

        "Maybe we should get going. Somebody else probably needs this room," he said, glancing around as if he'd just realized - or maybe re-realized - that the meeting was over and we were just sitting here talking.

        "Yeah, I'll see you guys later," Joe said, abruptly standing and walking out of the room quickly. I glanced over at Pete, his gaze following him as he walked out the door, a confused expression on his features.

        "That was odd..." he mumbled to himself, probably not something I was particularly meant to hear.

        "Yeah, well I guess I'm going to take off too. See you," Andy told us before strolling out of the room.

        After he'd left, Pete scoffed, his gaze trained on the whiteboard. "Nice, Andy. Very mature," he muttered, glancing over at me for my reaction.

        I just rolled my eyes, shaking my head. Our twenty-eight year old drummer had drawn a dick.

        Standing up from my chair a moment later, I told Pete, "Well I guess I'll just head back home then. You're welcome to come with if you want." At that last bit, I shrugged but I was hoping he'd say yes because cuddling and watching a movie sounded pretty good right about now.

        "Actually, I think I need to get some stuff done at home but I'll call you later, okay?" he said, looking apologetically at me.

        "Oh, okay. Well I'll talk to you then. Bye," I said before walking out of the room and back outside to the parking lot. I doubted Pete was far behind me.

        He kept true to his word and called me later that night, right before I went to bed, and we stayed talking for close to an hour before I fell asleep, dropping my phone onto the floor with Pete still on the other end.


	8. Chapter 8

        The 2nd of December we had another show, this one in Chicago. It had been about a week since I'd missed that meeting and Pete and I hadn't spent much time together in that week. He'd been distant and I was worried about what was going through his head.

        "Alright guys, you're free to go," our sound guy shouted from a ways away. We'd finally finished soundcheck which meant we had about 2 1/2 hours until show time. I turned and headed off stage, putting my guitar up and pulling Pete aside a moment later.

        "We need to talk," I told him in a low voice, letting him know we'd have to find someplace private, that right here wouldn't work for our chat.

        A worried look passed over his face, like he knew what I wanted to talk to him about, and he nodded, pulling me down a hall and into his dressing room.

        "So what's this about?" he asked me with raised eyebrows, plopping down into a chair.

        "What's going on, Pete? It feels like you've been avoiding me lately - scratch that. I  _know_  you've been avoiding me," I said, a concerned tone to my voice.

        "How do you ' _know_ ' this?" he questioned, making air quotes with his fingers and speaking as if what I was saying was ridiculous.

        I was taken aback by his tone, looking at him incredulously before responding. "You take hours to respond to my texts, decline when I invite you over, hardly answer your phone... You're sending a pretty clear message here."

        "I don't feel like we're...  _Right_ , Patrick," he spat out, waving a hand around almost as if to emphasize his point before bringing it to his head and running a hand through his hair, sighing.

        His words hit me like a ton of bricks and it took me a moment to gather my thoughts even well enough to form words. "W-what are you saying?" I asked him, already knowing the answer. I could feel tears burning, threatening to escape, and I did my best to hold them back.  _Do not cry in front of Pete. Don't let him see how much this is getting to you._ I really should've seen this coming but I hadn't allowed myself to.

        "I'm saying maybe we should see other people," he spoke again, his voice soft and quiet this time, hard to hear for more reasons than his low tone.

        "Pete, we can fix this. Don't just throw us away," I said, trying not to sound like I was begging but I'm pretty sure I did. My voice cracked on the last word and I could see him flinch, like it hurt him to see me in pain.

        "This was a bad idea in the first place. I should've never crawled up into your bunk that night, let alone let a relationship form around it," he told me like he was begging me to agree. Maybe we were both begging at this point, I don't really know. All I know is that my heart hurt like it never had before.

        Instead of replying, I turned on my heel and walked out of the room, the tears falling as soon as I'd shut the door. I had to find some place quiet where I could be alone and it didn't take me long before I did, hiding in a closet that didn't look like it was being used. Alone, the tears came steadier, violent sobs wracking my body. We hadn't been together long but it scared me how quickly I'd given him this much power over me. With a few simple sentences, he'd reduced me to an absolute mess and I hated that. My fists clenched, I weakly hit a box sitting next to me more out of frustration than anything. I thought we'd felt perfect together; he obviously hadn't. Embarrassment hit me like a freight train. I'd been too blind to see this coming and this is what happened to me when I was blindly struck.

        I didn't know how much time had passed when a knock sounded on the door but I didn't feel like moving or even speaking to anyone so I didn't answer. My lack of a response didn't stop the door from opening, though, and Joe and Andy appeared on the other side. Andy squatted down so he was eye level with me but Joe remained standing. I stayed seated, my head in my hands and eyes glued to the floor.

        "Patrick, we know what happened," Andy started, his tone soft and pitying. The second part almost made me angry but I brushed it off, knowing that wouldn't help anything. "And we just want to help but it's almost show time."

        I sighed, nodding, and stood up, brushing myself off.

        "God, you look like shit," Joe said, smiling at me.

        "You're a dick," I told him, returning the smile and wiping my fingers under my eyes, taking a few deep breaths.

        "I know. C'mon, let's get you ready for the show," he told me, ushering me to where I needed to be like I were a child, Andy following behind. I didn't entirely mind being babied, though. I didn't want to have to do a single thing right now, let alone play a show.

        "I don't know if I can do this tonight," I told them as the three of us began preparing to go on stage, Pete nowhere in sight, thankfully.

        "Just put it all behind you, forget about it. This isn't the first time we've gotten in a fight before a show," Andy told me, clipping a battery pack onto the waistband of his shorts.

        "I don't want to even look at him right now, let alone high five him and forget about it," I countered, starting my stretches.

        That's when Pete walked up and I wondered how much of that conversation he'd heard. I was guessing most of it, considering the fact that he wouldn't even look at me as he readied himself for the show.

        "Hey man," Joe said in greeting to Pete, walking over to him.

        They talked for a while, until we heard someone shout "One minute!" and we all moved to our proper places, Pete right next to me, forcing him to finally look at me.

        Silently, he raised his hand to me, as if asking me to high five him like we always did after a fight and before a show.

        Instead of hitting my hand against his, I raised my middle finger and flipped him off right before we were queued to go out on stage. This would be a fun show.


	9. Chapter 9

        After the show, Joe and I were sitting in his hotel room not doing too much when he finally brought it up.

        "That was not your best show," he told me sympathetically, knowing I already knew it. "Sure as hell wasn't Pete's either."

        "I know, and I feel like I should apologize to the fans. I told myself I'd never let personal problems hurt the music and I did exactly that tonight," I admitted with a sigh, rubbing my face with my hands.

        Wordlessly, Joe pulled out his phone. Evidently, he'd opened Twitter because he began reading things off to me. "@falloulboi wants to know 'What was up with Patrick and Pete tonight?' @falloutpanic: '@petewentz did something happen between you and Patrick?' Oh, here's a gem from @petessuiteheart: 'Do @petewentz and Patrick hate each other now or....?' They want to know what's going on. They're worried and deserve an explanation."

        "Well I can't exactly tell them the truth," I countered, knowing that would end badly. We'd agreed not to tell them during the relationship so why would telling them after the fact be any better? It wouldn't, simple as that.

        He shrugged, saying, "Do what you want but I didn't say the explanation had to be the truth."

        "Constructing a believable lie would require speaking to Pete in order to keep our story straight and I'm not too interested in that at the moment. I doubt he is either, considering the last thing I said to him," I told him, knowing my excuses were getting more and more elaborate and harder to believe.

        "What'd you say to him?" he questioned, looking worried about what it could be. "It couldn't have been too bad, I mean, you're  _Patrick_."

        "Hey," I protested, feigning offense. "I can be mean if I want to."

        "Mhm, but not horrible. C'mon, what'd you say?" He sounded like a typical teenage girl, about to hear some gossip.

        "Well, it was more of a gesture than an actual word," I started and he bust out laughing, leaning back and clutching his stomach. "What?" I asked him, smiling slightly, confused as to what was so funny.

        "You flipped him off and you're acting like you just killed a man," he explained, wiping under his eyes. I wasn't sure if he'd actually laughed so hard he'd cried or it was just for show.

        "Well I doubt it helped the situation," I said meekly. "Plus, it was really rude. I feel bad about it."

        "He'll get over it, don't worry. You have nothing to feel bad about. If anyone does, it's him. What prompted it?" he asked, his tone unconcerned and relaxed.

        "Well, he held his hand up for a high five, you know, the let's-put-it-all-behind-us-for-now high five, and I really didn't want him to think I was forgiving him even the smallest amount so..." I told him, finishing with a shrug instead of actual words.

        "Oh god, Patrick. I think he got the message that you're pissed," he said with another laugh, but there was an edge to it this time. I think he was a little worried about what might happen to the band if we couldn't make up.

        "I just don't want this to impact the band any more than it already has," I said with a sigh, rubbing my face with my hands.

        "Me neither," Joe told me, a sobering tone to his voice. I was unbelievably worried and I had a feeling he was too. I'd be shocked if the thought hadn't crossed Andy and Pete's minds more than once too.

        This whole situation was making me realize how delicate a career in music really is when it depended on four guys getting along, especially when two of them decided it was a good idea to take things past friendship. Maybe we were just meant to crash and burn. Maybe we weren't meant to be one of those bands with a 20 year life, as much as I'd like for us to be. Fall Out Boy would just be one of those bands that no one remembers because we only lasted seven years and it would be my fault. I may have just crushed my own and my three best friends' dreams of becoming someone remembered in music and I wasn't sure how to deal with that.

        Joe speaking pulled me out of my thoughts and I could tell he was nervous about what he had to say, biting his lip. "So, I probably should've told you this earlier but Pete didn't want me to. Now it won't hurt anything, though. Anyways, the other day when you were late for that meeting, he and I were talking when you walked in," he started, stopping like he knew the next part would be hard for me to hear. I didn't care though, and I already had an idea of what he was about to say. "Pete had asked me what I thought he should do... You know, about you two. He was thinking about breaking it off then and I tried to tell him to stay with you but..." He stopped again, sighing and shaking his head. "I guess he had already made his decision."

        I didn't know what to say, or even do for that matter. I mean, what  _is_  the proper response to something like that? I hadn't really thought much about that day, but now I realize that was when Pete started noticeably distancing himself from me.

        "I-I'm gonna go," I said, standing up on shaky legs with an unsteady voice to match, and starting towards the door.

        "Patrick?" I heard Joe call as I left, a worried tone to his words. I didn't respond, acting like I hadn't even heard him. I hardly had, anyway. My tumultuous thoughts seemed to encompass my entire head, blocking out everything out side of me. It was as if I was on auto-pilot as I made my way back to my room and crawled into bed without even changing clothes. I didn't get much sleep that night and couldn't help but wonder if Pete did either.


	10. Chapter 10

        The next day I was awoken by the sound of something hitting the wall between Joe's and my room, followed by an exclamation of "Fuck!" I rolled my eyes, figuring it wasn't anything other than Joe being Joe.

        As I crawled out of bed to get ready for the day, I heard voices coming from his room. Not just Joe's, but someone else too. Both voices were deep, definitely not a woman's. I shook my head and grabbed my iPod, setting it on my nightstand and choosing an album to listen to. Hopefully that would drown out whatever was going on next door; I didn't need to get in Joe's business, whatever it was.

        After a shower, I fished a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt out of my suitcase, and slipped those on. My still wet hair clung to my head but I grabbed my fedora anyway, placing it on top. That's when I finally glanced at my phone to check the time, realizing I was supposed to be downstairs in the lobby to meet everyone else ten minutes ago. Hurriedly, I stuffed everything in my bag, and rushed downstairs where everyone was not-so-patiently waiting for me.

        As I muttered my apologies, we were ushered outside to a car that would take us to the airport. I made sure to stay as far away from Pete as I could and I don't think he had a problem with that.

        During the ride to the airport, out manager turned around in his seat to talk to us, making sure we knew what was going on. Pete and Andy sat in the back row, Joe and I in the middle, him and our driver in the front.

        "Okay so you're playing a show tonight in St. Louis. America's Suitehearts is on the setlist, right?" he started and we all nodded. "Good. Just a reminder, that officially drops as a single on the 8th - five days from now, and the entire album eight days after that - on the 16th..." The rest of what he said was routine and boring until the last bit. "...And Pete and Patrick: you two need to get your shit together and make up. It's affecting your work." He gave us both a stern look before turning back around in his seat.

        We arrived at the airport shorty after that, piling out of the car with our luggage in our hands or rolling behind us. We wouldn't be home until the 22nd so it's safe to say we each had a fair amount of stuff packed although not as much as we would for a full tour because we weren't on tour, after all. It was just a series of shows before Christmas to promote our new album.

        Getting through security was easy and we were on the plane in no time. After sticking my bag in the overhead compartment, I looked down to see Andy and Joe had made sure to sit by each other, leaving the one next to Pete the only one still open. I sighed and sat down, glad this wasn't a long flight.

        Just as I had gotten settled in, my phone buzzed with a text message.  _One new message from Joe._

_ >Joe: Work it out_

        That's all it said but I didn't need more to know exactly what he'd meant. He wanted Pete and I to talk it out during the flight. Glancing over at the man next to me, I sighed and shook my head when I saw he had earbuds in and was already pretending I didn't exist. I quickly shot a text back:

_ >He's ignoring me already. What am I supposed to do?_

        Seconds later my phone buzzed with a reply.

_ >Joe: Figure it out. Get his attention._

        I set my phone back down in my lap, locking it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pete's phone buzz with a text. Whatever was in it convinced him to stop ignoring me because he pulled his earbuds out and looked over at me expectantly.

        I opened my mouth to say something but was interrupted by a voice on the loudspeaker telling us to turn all electronics off and strap in for take off.

        I turned my cellphone off before facing Pete again, his eyes still glued to me waiting for me to say something. I wasn't sure they'd left as I flicked off my cellphone.

        "Pete, I'm not happy with you and you're not happy with me but maybe we could put it behind us? For the fans, if for no other reason," I asked him, trying to keep my tone hopeful. Although I wasn't sure I was ready to forgive him yet, I said it anyway. Even if we weren't on good terms personally, maybe we could work it out for the band because that just might have to be good enough for now.

        It was a moment before he responded, his brows furrowed, eyes trained on my face as if he were studying me. "You really think the fans want a fake friendship between us?" he asked, his tone near hostile. I didn't even get why he was so angry with me.  _He_  broke up with  _me_. If he's bitter because I flipped him off, it's petty and childish of him.

        "No, but it's better than nothing. They were all so confused and worried after last night's show," I told him, remembering the tweets Joe had been reading off to me last night.

        "They're always confused and worried," he spat, rolling his eyes at me.

        Taken aback by his tone, it was a moment before I responded. I wasn't sure I'd ever heard his words laced with such disgust as they were just then. "Pete, why are you even so mad at me?" I asked, taking a different approach.

        He glanced around the plane, like he thought someone might be listening to our conversation. In a hushed tone, he asked, "Can we talk about this later?"

        "Why?" I asked, not lowering my voice to match his. I was irritated and I'm sure it showed.

        "Because this isn't a conversation I want to have in public," he hissed, glancing around again and keeping the low tone he'd adopted last time he spoke.

        "Then you'd better not avoid me again. We're having this conversation," I told him, trying to keep my voice stern.

        "Yes Mother," he told me, smirking slightly as he glanced over at me. In that moment, it almost felt like we were happy and together again. Almost.


	11. Chapter 11

       The plane landed in St. Louis before too long, a few fans at the airport to greet us. We signed a few things, chatted for just a bit, before we had to rush off. A couple of them asked questions about what was going on between Pete and I, why we hadn't been friendly to each other on stage lately, and we just shook them off, not really answering. It's not like we could tell them the truth and we hadn't come up with a lie yet.

        Our hotel wasn't too far from the airport, but even closer to the venue, which would definitely be nice. I was dreading the conversation I'd have to have with Pete soon after we arrived, though. I wanted to hear what he had to say, but at the same time, I didn't. The internal battle fought on through the entire ride to the hotel. I don't think there ever was quite a resolution, though. Maybe both sides just agreed on a truce.

        I hauled my bags up to my room and collapsed onto the bed. I could only imagine Andy, Joe, and Pete were doing about the same thing. Traveling was tiring, even just small amounts of it. You'd think we'd be used to it by now, but each flight was just like the last and jet lag still killed us just as much. Granted,there wasn't a time change between here and home so that was helpful, but something about climbing on a plane was exhausting.

        I might've dosed off but I wasn't sure. Either way, the next thing I remembered was a knock on my door. My bones creaked as I got up, making noises as if I were popping the joints. I must've been lying there longer than I'd thought. Yawning, I opened the door without even thinking to check who it was.

        Just the person I wanted to see stood on the other side.

_Pete_.

        "Oh, hey," I said sleepily, a little caught off guard by his appearance. I shouldn't have been, though. I'd told him not to avoid me so here he was. Perfect.

        "Hey," he said, shooting me a tired smile like he'd just woken from a nap too. Oh how I wish I'd woken up to that smile in the bed next to me.  _Stop it, Patrick. He_ left _you. Get that through your head_.

        "Well come on in," I told him, stepping aside to allow him past me. He did just that, awkwardly shuffling past me into the small room before I shut the door behind him.

        "So..." he started, sitting down at the end of the bed. I wasn't sure there had ever been this much tension between us before and I sure as hell wasn't a fan of it's presence.

        "So..." I repeated, forcing out a little laugh at the end, and earning a slight smile from Pete.

        An awkward silence settled over us then as I moved to sit in a chair directly across from the bed.

        Finally, I was the one to break it. "So why  _are_  you so mad at me?" I asked, asking the same thing I had on the plane earlier.

        He sighed rubbing his face with his hands. "I'm not mad at you, Patrick," he told me simply, almost as if he were specifically trying to avoid telling me what he knew I wanted to know.

        "Then what is it?"

        "I'm mad at myself," he admitted, still not clearing anything up.

        "What's  _that_  supposed to mean?" I asked, the confusion evident in my voice.

        "It means that I wasn't supposed to fall for you. It was just supposed to be a one night thing that we'd never bring up again but it didn't quite work out that way, did it? I'm mad at myself for letting my emotions fuck with my head so quickly and I was trying to un-fall for you by distancing myself from you but looks like that hasn't worked out either," he told me, refusing to meet my eyes as he spoke, his head resting in his hands, facing the ground. The pain was evident and as difficult as it was to hear this, it was harder to hear him like this.

        "So let me get this straight," I started, feeling like his logic was more than a little fucked up. "You weren't supposed to like me this much so you tried  _not_  to like me at all or...?"

        "It's not so much that I was against falling for you necessarily, it was that it scared me how  _quickly_  I'd given you so much power over me," he tried to explain, picking at the be sheets in an attempt to not have to look up at me.

        "Power over you?" I asked, confusion lacing my tone. "What are you talking about?"

        He finally met my gaze, looking at me with an amazed expression. "You don't realize that you could've reduced me to a fucking heartbroken mess with a few words? I fell for you way too quick for comfort and I was terrified you'd exercise that power."

        "Pete, I don't see it that way. A relationship isn't a power struggle; it's mutual trust and support - er, it's supposed to be," I told him, keeping my tone soft.

        "But our's wasn't and if that makes it wrong, then that's what it was. You had that power over me but I didn't over you."

        "You didn't have any power over me? Do you not have any idea what I did after you broke up with me?" I asked, my tone incredulous. He was being selfish and blind.

        When he responded, he sounded almost bitter, spitting the words out. "What? Go back to your dressing room and play some music?"

        "No, Pete, I did not. I hid myself where I wouldn't be found and  _cried_. I cried until Joe and Andy came to find me because it was almost time to take the stage," I told him, my voice on the verge of hostile. That last comment of his was uncalled-for and it pissed me off.

        He was silent for a moment before choking out a simple, "Oh."

        "Oh?" I asked, feeling like he should've had more to say on the topic.

        "I-I'm sorry, Patrick," he told me, his voice soft and barely audible.

        "You know, I don't think I'm really ready to accept that apology. I'm still pretty pissed," I said firmly, crossing my arms. If he thought everything would be peachy because he apologized, he's delusional. No way was he getting off the hook that easily.

        "That's understandable," he said, nodding to himself with a sigh. "I just...I was stupid and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me eventually. I make some pretty stupid mistakes regularly and this was one of them." At that last bit, he forced out a small laugh, smirking slightly.

        I returned neither the laugh nor the smile, staying silent. The way I looked at him wasn't quite a glare but it certainly communicated that I wasn't happy.

        He just shook his head at me, sighing again before standing up and leaving the room. "I'll talk to you later, Patrick. See ya."

~~~~~~~

        An hour or so later we had to leave for the venue and it was a relief. I was glad to have something to do, a reason to leave my hotel room and focus on something other than what Pete had said. That man is going to be the death of me, I swear.

        I think we were improving, though, because we may not have really spoken to each other during the ride there, but we didn't avoid each other either. That's improvement, right? I'm going to tell myself it is and maybe it'll actually become one if I start to believe it enough. I wanted everything to be good between us again but It was clearer now than ever that it was going to take work to reach that point.

        The show went well, though, and I took that as a good sign. We high-fived like we normally would, as if this were just a regular fight where we were just being stubborn instead of what it actually was. We were back to normal on stage and the fans seemed to be happy about that, judging by what the few we met as we were leaving said.

        Maybe things really were taking a turn for the better.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is crazy short so rly sorry about that

        After the show that night, we headed immediately for the airport. We had a show in Seattle tomorrow night - well, it was past midnight by now so I guess, technically, it's tonight. I planned on sleeping during the flight nonetheless. The lack of sleep I'd been getting lately was astounding and it was beginning to take it's toll on me. Plus, the shows just hadn't been going as well lately. The fans just didn't seem to be as into the new material. Maybe they just didn't know it very well yet.

        We sat in the same formation we had last time, when flying to St. Louis: Joe and Andy in the row behind Pete and me. The entire plane was pretty quiet, but there weren't too many people on it, either.

     As we were taking off, I could hear giggling coming from behind us, like they were two schoolgirls. Pete evidently heard it too, because he glanced over at me, raising an eyebrow as if to ask if I knew what was going on. I just shrugged in response.

        That short interaction between us was easy, almost as if we just two best friends who knew each other better than anyone else, like we were before that night on the bus. Even though things were different between us now, more difficult, I wouldn't change a thing. I realized something that night and I'm willing to fight for what I love.  _Love. Did I really just use that word?_ The scary thing is, I think I was right. I do love Pete, and that's a sobering thought.

        I glanced over at him and he was leaning back in his seat, earbuds in, listening to who knows what, eyes half open. He must've felt my gaze on him because he met my eyes, a smile curving his lips. After returning the smile, I leaned over, resting my head on his shoulder as if everything was okay between us. A little pretending couldn't hurt, right? Right. I could feel his arm snake around my waist, pulling me closer and I didn't object.

        Before long, Pete and I had both fallen asleep without ever saying a word to each other the entire time on the plane.

~~~~~~~~~~

        I woke up to Pete groggily calling my name. "Patrick...Patrick, c'mon. We've landed."

        I yawned, sitting up and stretching before unbuckling and grabbing my carry on bag from the overhead compartment. Exiting the plane was slow, due to the narrow isles, but it wasn't too bad considering there weren't too many people on the plane in the first place. Pete always made sure to follow close behind though, like he was protecting me from something; he just didn't know what yet.

        The trip to the hotel was a blur, probably because I was still half asleep. All I know is Pete ended up in my room with me, lying next to me in my bed with his arms around me and I wasn't complaining. Pretending everything was alright couldn't hurt, could it? Of course not. I just wanted us to be happy and together again, that's all, and it almost felt as if we were.

~~~~~~~~

        I woke up the next morning to an empty bed, Pete having evidently disappeared earlier. We may have gotten along last night, but we also didn't talk very much. It felt like we were on our way to normality, but without talking we'd get nowhere. Our lack of communication hadn't bothered me last night, probably because I just wanted to feel his arms around me, but now it did.

        I sighed and climbed out of bed, stretching and yawning as I woke myself up. It was around 3, which meant I had about an hour before we had to be at the venue, so I decided a shower would be best. I'm pretty sure I still smelled like the show last night, sweat and all. There's no denying that concerts had a certain smell that's entirely unique to them. Maybe it was just visceral. Maybe it was just all the sweaty people dancing.

        I pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans, grabbed my fedora, and slipped into a pair of converse before heading down to the lobby where everyone was sure to be waiting for me.

        And I was right; everyone was already down in the lobby waiting for me.

        "I'm not late," I said as I walked up before anyone could accuse me of such.

        "Not  _this_  time," Joe said, smirking before we all piled into a dark colored SUV that would take us to the venue. We sat as we had on the plane and it seemed as if this formation was becoming habit.

        Pete snaked his hand around my waist after we'd buckled in, pulling me a little closer to himself. I hesitated before leaning my head on his shoulder. We still hadn't really a said much to each other since the other night in my hotel room. I wanted us to talk but I didn't know what to say. I love him, but I'm still kind of pissed about what he did.

        We made it to the venue just in time for soundcheck, which didn't take too long. It was pretty routine, really.

        Afterwards, I was on my way to my dressing room when Pete abruptly pulled me into his, across the hall.

        "Can we talk?" he asked, shutting the door behind us.

        "Only if you promise it won't be like that last time we had a conversation in your dressing room," I joked, smiling a little.


	13. Chapter 13

        "I promise," he agreed, returning the smile.

        I made my way over to one of the chairs and sat down as Pete grabbed the chair that sat in front of his vanity and spun it around before sitting on it backwards.

        "So what's up?" I asked even though I already knew what he wanted to talk about: the same thing I did.

        He folded his arms and rested them on the back of his chair, propping his chin on top of that. He just stared at me for a moment as if memorizing my features before finally speaking, although not answering my question. "You're gorgeous."

        I blushed, smiling, and saying, "Pete, that was the gayest thing you've ever said."

        He laughed too then, his eyes never leaving my face. It was moments like these I cherished: when things felt right between us; when we could laugh and joke; when the stupidest jokes could feel as intimate as exchanging secrets.

        "I  _am_  pretty gay, though, so I guess it's fitting," he shot back, smiling still.

        "You're just the right amount of gay," I told him, my curved lips a mirror of his.

        "You can't honestly say my wildly gay fantasies about you," he said, standing up and making his way over to me, "Aren't a bit much at times." He sat down on my lap, straddling me, his hands brushing across my face before winding up in my hair.

        "Maybe that makes me a little too gay also, then," I said, my eyes locked with his as I moved my hands to rest on the tops of his thighs. I had a feeling I was wrong in thinking he wanted to talk.

        "Perfect," he said before crashing his lips into mine, quickly transitioning from some soft and gentle to rough and hungry. His hands ran through my hair, gripping and pulling at it. My hands squeezed his thighs tightly, rubbing across them.

        I was enjoying it but I didn't want to.  _You're mad at him, remember? You need to_ talk _to him, not fuck him._  Because of that, I gently pushed him away, both of us breathing heavily.

        A confused and slightly disappointed look crossed his features, asking for an explanation.

        "Pete, we need to actually talk," I told him, answering his unasked question.

        He sighed, standing up. "I know," he said as he made his way back to where he'd been sitting before. "It's just not a conversation I necessarily  _want_  to have."

        "Me either, buts it's worse with it hanging over our heads," I told him, my voice tired, "I dread these tense conversations as much as you do and it seems like we've had quite a few of them lately."

        "Way too many if you ask me," he said in agreement, sighing and forcing out a small laugh.

        Silence settled over us for what seemed like the millionth time, just watching the other person's features, trying to pick out what we wanted to say without actually saying it for fear it might be too difficult. It seemed like a legitimate fear, to me at least. Most of what we said to each other had been difficult lately, either in the way that we didn't way to say it or didn't know how. Needless to say, I just wanted it to be easy between us again, if that was even possible. At this point, I wasn't so sure.

        "I'm sorry, Patrick," Pete told me again, just like he had the last time. He did sound like he meant it, though. "For just generally being a dick and treating you like shit."

        I nodded, basically just agreeing with the fact that he'd been a bit of a dick. "I  _want_  to forgive you. I  _want_  to be with you again but I  _don't_  want you to pull another stunt like that," I told him, my tone almost sounding like I were warning him not to try it again. "Because if you do, I  _won't_  want to forgive you. I  _will not_  let you toy with me."

        "My intention wasn't to toy with you," he told me, looking almost hurt. "I was terrified and you know my logic doesn't always make sense. I'm full of stupid decisions. I know I'm bad news."

        "You can't use that as an excuse, Pete. You're an adult; maybe you should start acting like it.," I said, my words harsh, sharp enough to slice through skin with one swift swipe. I hadn't intended for the conversation to go this way at all. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I just want things to be good between us again. Right now, it didn't feel like this conversation was going to fix anything as much as I wanted it to.

        His expression was a mix of hurt and shock, with well-disguised anger lurking just below the surface. If I didn't know him as well as I do, I wouldn't have seen it at all. The left corner of his mouth tilted downwards, just slightly, as if it were half of a minuscule frown and the right side never got the memo. At times, I found it to be endearing; this was not one of those times.

        "I'm trying my hardest here, and just hoping it'll be anywhere near enough for things to be good between us again," he told me, his tone matter-of-fact, obviously working to keep his voice even.

        "I-I don't know if it is," I admitted, my gaze locked onto the floor, my voice hardly audible. It wasn't something I wanted to accept, and less of something I wanted to say but words seemed to just fall out of my mouth right now. I needed a way to catch them before they hit Pete but a method wasn't coming to me. Here I go, fucking up again.  _Great_.

        "Then what's that going to mean for us?" he asked after several moments of thoughtful silence, matching my tone. It was as if it took a while for what I said to actually sink in and once it did, he wished it hadn't.

        "I don't know," I admitted, shaking my head although I was still unable to look at him. I feared it would be too painful, too difficult, to say these things and watch the expressions cross his face. Maybe that was a sign I shouldn't be saying them, but again, it was like I couldn't stop myself.

        "Then maybe we should figure it out before we do any more damage," he suggested, shrugging slightly. He sounded tired, but as if he wanted to be hopeful, wanted to believe we'd be friends again, if not together ever.

        He sighed, looking up at me and just staring for a moment. I could feel his gaze on me for a prolonged amount of time, which caused me to glance up at him. When I did so, he smirked just slightly, hardly even noticeably, as if that was exactly what he'd wanted me to do.

        When he spoke a moment later, it sounded like what he was saying was a burden, like he almost wished it weren't true. "I love you Patrick. More than you'll ever know," he told me, standing up and making his way over to the door. Standing in the doorway, he looked back at me, adding to what he'd just said. "I just wish that was enough." 

        With that, he left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving me with scrambled thoughts.


	14. Chapter 14

        It was December 15th, and  _Folie_  was set to drop in a matter of minutes, at midnight. The four of us along with a few guys from management sat in Joe's hotel room because it was the cleanest, nervously watching the clock and computer screen. It displayed our website, where we'd been posting every so often in an attempt to get the fans more excited than they already appeared to be. Most of the comments on the message board were comical, and scrolling through them eased our nerves a bit.

        "You think they'll like it?" Joe asked, glancing around at all of us. The anxiety was clearly displayed in his eyes, not dissimilar to the rest of our's.

        "I'm sure they will. I mean, we know it's a great record; we've just got to get it out there and let it do it's thing," Pete told us, feebly trying to reassure everyone. He didn't sound quite so sure himself but the fact that he felt good enough about the record to tell us that said something in itself.

        "Yeah, the fans always support us and I doubt this'll be any different," I agreed, glancing around at the few of us in the room. Nervous gazes met mine, fingers fidgeting and feet tapping. Pete kept running a hand through his hair, an anxious tick of his that I'd always found endearing. I still did, if I'm honest.

        Since our show in Seattle several days ago, Pete and I had remained pretty platonic, nothing past cuddling. We hadn't actually stated it, but we were giving "us" another try and taking it slower this time.  _Much_  slower. It was a good thing, though. I mean, yeah, I missed his lips on mine and running my hands across the smooth skin of his chest, but if it meant he'd be mine for longer than the short time we'd had together last time, I could wait a little bit. We could be intimate without adding lust into the equation and right now, that's exactly what we needed.

        "It's midnight. The record's out there," I heard someone say, pulling me out of my reverie. In just a few moments, we'd know what the fans thought of it as they were hearing it for the first time.

        "Ready?" Joe asked, his hand hovering over the F5 key, the key that would refresh the page and show us the updated post-midnight comments. I think we were all holding our breath at this point.

        Andy nodded at him and he clicked it, the page flashing back to white as it reloaded.

        Those few seconds that it took for the page to come back up felt like hours.

        The first comment slid onto the screen and we all let out a sigh of relief as if a weight had just been lifted from our shoulders. 

_They loved it..._

_So far._

~~~~~~~~~

        Pete and I headed back to his hotel room around 2 in the morning, tired but oddly energized. Dropping a new album and seeing the positive reactions was like a shot of adrenaline and it hadn't quite worn off yet. Pete was bouncing down the corridor, beckoning for me to join him even as he passed his own room.

        "C'mon Patrick! Don't you just want to  _run_?" he asked me, looking at me with this childish grin that encompassed his entire face. Quite frankly, it was downright adorable. 

        "Sshhh, you'll wake the other  _sane_  guests," I told him, my voice just above a whisper. It was evident I was holding back laughter, obviously amused by his suddenly childish behavior. Seeing this side of him was a rare occurrence not to be taken for granted. This Pete is the one I wished surfaced more often because he radiated joy and seemed to brighten the moods of all those around him, myself included.

        He shot me a look that told me he thought I was crazy, like I'd forgotten something entirely obvious to him. "We're rock stars. Who cares?" he said with a laugh that was almost maniacal, but entirely joking. Maybe releasing a new album was less like a shot of adrenaline and more like a high, for him anyways.

        "I'm betting the people you're waking right now care," I told him, an incredulous giggle escaping my mouth. It was one of those laughs that one emits when they're amazed at another person's words, find them mildly amusing, and isn't sure what else to do because just how does one respond to such a statement? I certainly didn't know and that was partly why the noise left my mouth.

        "Aw, c'mon! That's not important," he countered, throwing his head back and laughing as if my refusal was the funniest thing in the world to him. And while on a high like this, who knows, maybe it was. When he spoke again, his eyes seemed to light up with an unknown energy. "Just run a little bit. You'll feel better, I promise."

        I didn't respond immediately so he turned on his heel and took off at a slow jog in the opposite direction.

        Reluctantly, I followed him, catching up quickly and jogging next to him down the hall.

        "This isn't running. You haven't seen anything yet, Stump," he told me, winking before picking up the pace and running at full pelt. I did my best to keep up, but what chubby kid could ever run along with the soccer star?

        His laughter floated back to me, the melodic sound filling my ears and causing me to break into a smile. It sounded better than any music we could ever make together, but I could almost call his laugh music in itself. 

        He reached the end of the hall, not even pausing to push the door to the stairwell open. It was as if he just barreled through it, flying to the stairs and gliding up them. Taking them two at a time, he was at his most graceful. By the time I reached the doorway, it was still open and I followed in his wake, only I took the stairs one at a time for fear of tripping if I tried multiples.

        Instead of stopping at the next level, he continued upward, not even seeming to slow down as if fatigue was a concept he hadn't grasped. He didn't stop until he reached the roof, bursting through the door, the wind catching it and throwing it completely open.

        I emerged a short time after him only to find him with his arms out, eyes trained on the night sky, laughing as if he'd never get another chance to laugh after tonight. Again, it was contagious and I soon found myself laughing too, oblivious to the world around us. In that moment, it didn't matter that the wind whipped around us, threatening to knock us over with it's strength; it didn't matter that the cold December air was chilling us to the very bone; it didn't matter what relationship troubles we'd gone through lately because in that moment, we were perfect.

        "Patrick?" I heard him call, eyes still trained on the heavens, arms at his sides now.

        "Yeah?" I answered, watching him with the same intent gaze he was watching the sky with in this very moment.

        "Thank you."

        "For what?"

        "Sticking with me," he told me, his tone solemn.

        "I wouldn't dream of  _not_  sticking with you. I love you, Pete."

        I hadn't said it back, but it almost seemed better telling him in this way.


	15. Chapter 15

        I was cuddled up next to Pete on the couch backstage at Jimmy Kimmel, waiting for our turn to go on and play. We were just scheduled for a performance, not an interview this time and I wasn't complaining. Actually, I don't think any if us were.

        Andy and Joe sat on the couch opposite Pete and me, seemingly in deep conversation about absolutely nothing. Occasionally, a giggle would float over to us and I'd glance over there wondering what was so funny, but I never seemed to find out. Pete appeared to be oblivious to it, pretty well spaced out minus the occasional glance down at me accompanied by a cheesy smile. Needless to say, it elicited a laugh and smile in return from me each time because damn, that man was undeniably adorable.

        "Get ready! You're on after this commercial break!" I heard someone on the show's crew yell to the four of us without ever entering the room.

        I groaned, burying my face in Pete's chest. It's not that I didn't want to go out there and play; it's that I wanted to stay here cuddled up with Pete.

        "C'mon Pattycakes. You've gotta move," he told me, laughing a little at me. Pushing against my shoulder lightly, he tried to get me off of him feebly, not really putting too much effort into it.

        "But I don't want to," I whined, fighting to keep a smile off my lips and refusing to budge as he pushed on me.

        "But you need to," he said, his smile evident in his voice as he continued to try to push me off.

        That's when I felt hands grip around my ankles, pulling me in the opposite direction of Pete until I wound up being held bridal style by Andy. I looked up at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open from surprise. The entire room remained silent until Pete's hysterical laughter filled the room. Soon, we all joined him, Andy having to put me down for fear of dropping me because he'd been laughing too hard.

        "What the hell was that, Andy?" Joe asked once he was able to speak again, giggles still spurting out of his mouth every once in a short while.

        He shrugged, saying, "We've only got a couple minutes before we have to be out there." He spoke as if it was a completely logical explanation, like every one just picked up their friends when they were in a hurry. This caused all of us to crack another smile, Pete shaking his head in disbelief.

        A moment later we were corralled to the part of the stage where we were to perform. The small audience cheered as we walked out, only a few all-out screaming. They were the ones wearing t-shirts with our faces on them so I shot them a quick smile. Our fans are the absolute best.

        We played _I Don't Care_ , and left the stage shortly after, handing our instruments to the right people an heading back to the same room we'd been in before. This time is was just to grab our stuff, jackets and cellphones mainly, before heading out to meet the fans that were undoubtedly waiting outside for us. We couldn't escape them anymore but I guess that was a good thing, right?

        A couple of the kids out there that looked like fans shouted hateful things to us about the new album, how they didn't like it one bit. Needless to say, we didn't stop and talk to them, just the ones who genuinely seemed to be happy to see us. I think Pete might've flipped them off, but I only saw it out of the corner of my eye. It really wouldn't surprise me if he did.

        We heard a few negative things about every album we've put out, but it seemed like there were more than a few negative reviews coming in this time around and that scared me. Maybe I was just focusing more on the negative this time. That's what I'll keep telling myself. Nonetheless, I was worried about our tour coming up. What if it didn't go well?

No, Patrick. It  _has_  to go well.

~~~~~~~~

        "Are you nervous, Little Dipper?" Pete asked me when we were lying in bed back at the hotel that night. We were spooning, his arms wrapped around my waist from behind, thus the temporary nickname. I almost laughed at how sincerely he was able to call me that, but didn't because I had a feeling I knew exactly what he was talking about.

        "Of course, but about what specifically?" I asked anyways, hoping he meant something else. If he hadn't noticed the extra negativity, then maybe it was all just in my head.

        "Touring on this album cycle," he told me, his tone unchanged. I still hoped he was just talking about the usual nervous energy before a new tour rather than anything special for the album.

        "Well yeah, I mean, debuting new material live is always nerve-wracking," I said, choosing my words carefully. If he didn't feel especially nervous this time around, I didn't want to plant those seeds in his mind.

        "No, I mean, more so than usual," he said, sounding a little confused as if he wasn't quite sure why he was feeling this way, but he definitely was. My hopes were washed away with his words, like a flood had come through and wiped them out. He'd noticed the negativity too, even if it wasn't entirely conscious.

        "Yeah, I know what you mean," I admitted with a sigh, as if the entire thing were a burden weighing me down. In a way, it was. The idea that the fans might not respond well on this tour was a troubling one, and I couldn't shake it.

        Pete hesitated a moment before responding, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts enough to speak. "I'm not even sure why, I just have this feeling."

        "The fans just don't seem to be loving this album as much, I don't know," I told him, tacking on the last three words in order to sound like I hadn't been focusing on it as much as I actually have.

        "Maybe," he said, sounding as if he only half believed me, like he was going to give it some more thought later. As if he was snapping out of a trance, he suddenly changed his tone to one of encouragement. "I'm sure it'll all work out fine. They always say they'll be there no matter what."

        I wish his words made me feel better, but they hadn't because really, what good is their word? I love them, but they're a bunch of teenagers saying things over the internet.

        "Yeah, you're right," I told him absentmindedly, my thoughts running rampant inside my head. He grunted in response, obviously just moments from falling asleep, his face buried in the crook of my neck.

        Almost like I was trying to reassure myself, I grabbed his hand resting at my waist, just holding it for something to hold onto that wasn't a pillow or bed sheet. Everything would work out fine. It had to. Maybe if I'll tell myself that enough, I'll start to believe it. I'll chant it inside my head until I fall asleep, drilling it into my subconscious, replacing the negative thoughts.

_At least we'll try_

_And run tonight._

_Everything will be alright._


	16. Chapter 16

        "Paaaaattycaaaaakes!" Pete sang to me through my hotel door, appearing to be in a very good mood, giddy almost. It surprised me, but I wasn't going to complain or question it because a happy Pete is the best Pete.

        "Whaaatt?" I asked, dragging out the word much like he did but feigning annoyance rather than singing as I opened the door to see him standing on the other side with a smile a mile wide and his hands hooked behind his back as if he were either hiding something or an excited child trying to contain himself.

        He frowned at my tone, but the smile quickly returned when he realized I was only teasing. "I'm taking you on a date. Right now. Let's go," he told me, grabbing my arm and attempting to pull me out the door.

        "Pete, I'm in my pajamas," I told him, holding back laughter. Whatever had gotten into him was like an energy shot. I hadn't seen him like this for a couple years, maybe longer. He wasn't exactly hyper, just  _happy_. That was back when we were touring for  _Cork Tree_  and it lasted about a month, I think, although if I remember correctly, it didn't have a good ending and there were bad tinges, but maybe this was something different. Maybe he was just in a good mood.

        "Fine, go change but be quick. I have dinner reservations for us in 30 minutes."

        He waited outside my door like a lost puppy until I emerged a couple minutes later, having changed into real clothes including a fedora. Pete shot me a quick smile before looping our arms together and leading us down the hall.

        "So where're we going?" I asked him as we walked, glancing over at him as he pressed the button to bring the elevator to us.

        "It's a surprise," he told me with a smirk, knowing that it would drive me crazy.

        "Oh c'mon! That's not fair," I whined, amusement audible in my voice.

      "I never claimed to play fair," he said, the same smirk still curving his lips before he leaned down to peck me on the lips, just a quick one but caring nonetheless.

        This man will be the death of me.

        We caught a cab to a restaurant I didn't quite catch the name of - something that started with an R - and were greeted by well-dressed patrons, better dressed employees, and candles as the predominant light source with classical music softly playing in the background. I instantly felt like Pete and I were under dressed but there wasn't much I could do about it now.

        The hostess shot us look that said  _Really? You're wearing that?_

        "Reservations for Wentz," he told her and her look immediately changed from disapproving to eager. Being in a fairly famous band had it's perks, I guess.

        She seated us at a table set for two over in one of the corners. It almost felt secluded and it was most definitely nice. She placed a menu at each seat before walking away.

        I went to sit down but Pete stopped me, pulling out my chair for me before he would let me sit. Shooting him an amused smile, I sat down, watching him move around the table and fall into his seat.

        "So I finally got around to taking you on our first date," he told me with a grin, like he was proud of himself.

        I couldn't help but return it as I responded. "So I noticed," I said as I glanced around the large room with high ceilings and dark walls. "It's a nice restaurant, you look nice, seem interested, got us a table away from the window...Shows you have faith in the relationship," I joked, pretending to analyze the entire situation.

        He let out a small laugh, shaking his head at me just as the waitress returned wanting our drink orders.

        "Just a water please."

        "Same for me."

        She disappeared again and I made a mental note to glance at her name tag next time she came around. I picked up the menu and glanced over it. None of it looked great, but it didn't look too bad. The food wasn't the best part of tonight, though; spending time with Pete as a couple was.

_Pete Wentz is my boyfriend_. I never thought that was a sentence I could truthfully say but I couldn't be happier that it is. Sure, we've had a couple rocky patches, but things were good in this moment and that's what mattered. We were even sitting away from the window so we wouldn't be caught by the media and have to deal with the shit storm that would surround that. They'd have to find out eventually, though, and I feared that day.

        "Pete?" I asked, causing him to look up from his menu.

        "Yeah?"

        "When do we tell the world...you know, about  _us_?" I said, my voice shaking ever so slightly. The very idea terrified me simply because we had no idea how they'd react, but I couldn't imagine a scenario where it was a positive reaction.

        His face melted into one of concern, reaching across the table and holding my hands in his, rubbing them subconsciously. "Hey, don't worry about that. We can wait as long as you want," he told me, his tone comforting and soft.

        "But I want to tell them. I don't want to have to hide, but I'm also afraid of what they'll say," I admitted, sounding defeated almost.

        "I'll be honest, I don't know what they'll say," he told me, meeting my gaze across the table. "But I'll stick with you through whatever is is because they could never change my opinion of you."

        I smiled softly, nodding ever so slightly as if to thank him without actually saying anything.

        "Now let's think about happier things, hm? I want our first date to be a good one."

        I nodded before I spoke again, keeping my tone as serious as it was before. "I've got one more question to ask you."

        "Uh, yeah, sure," he agreed, shooting me an odd look.

        "Is it cool if I hold your hand?" I asked, doing my best not to crack a smile. I'd been waiting to work that song into the conversation all night.

        "Is it wrong if I think it's lame to dance?" he responded without missing a beat. We both knew that song like one of our own, but then again, who doesn't?

        "Do you like my stupid hair?" I asked him, doing my best to sound genuinely worried that he might not.

        "Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear?" he said, gesturing down at his ensemble that wasn't entirely appropriate for a restaurant like this.

        That's when we both began laughing, trying out best not to be too loud and disturb the other guests. When we saw our waitress approaching, we quickly sobered ourselves, not having a clue what we wanted to order yet.

        I chose something at random from the menu, hoping I would enjoy it and it appeared Pete did too judging by the way he said it, like he was questioning himself.

        "So you never gave me a straight answer as to why you decided to sneak up to my bunk that night," I said with a coy smile, watching his expression melt into a shy one.

        Letting out a nervous laugh, he hesitated a long moment before responding. "No, I guess I didn't."

        "So mind if I ask for one?"

        "Yeah, a little bit."

        "Too bad. I'm asking anyways."

        "Oh, well, um," he started, obviously just stalling. I watched him intently, waiting for an answer, hiding a smirk. "You know how I've always been kind of 'gay above the waist?' Well, you're cute and I just kind of got to thinking maybe I'm gay below the waist too, I don't know," he finally admitted, blushing fiercely by the time he was finished speaking.

        "Well, I guess you've got your answer," I told him, smiling warmly across the table at him.

        "Huh, yeah, guess so," he agreed with a slight laugh, shaking his head in what appeared to be disbelief. He didn't believe that all this had happened and quite frankly, neither did I. I wouldn't have predicted this series of events in a million years.

        They were unpredictable, but they've turned out right. With Pete, I've had the time of my life. and I wouldn't trade it for anything, even with all the bad times. I just hope things don't end too quickly; I think I might want to spend the rest of my life with this man. Not immediately, of course. We really haven't dated for long, but in this moment, we felt perfect. We've made the best of a test, what could've so easily been an overwhelmingly large mistake, and things have turned out alright even if I did ask why.

~~~~~~~~~~

        The rest of the date when smoothly and we made it back to our hotel before too late. As we passed Joe's room, there were a few select noises coming from inside that were unmistakable. Pete'll probably tease him about it in the morning and bug him until he finds out who he had in there.

        When we got back to our room, I immediately fall back onto the bed, tired from just the little I did today. Pete didn't appear to be tired, though. In fact, he seemed as energized as ever. That worried me when put with his recently ecstatic mood, but I shook it off, hoping it was nothing. It's got to be nothing.

        "I'm going to head to bed," I told him, stripping down to my boxers and climbing under the covers.

        "Alright, g'night. I think I'll be up for a bit," he said, his tone light and carefree. "I'll go in the bathroom or something so the light doesn't keep you up."

        "Thanks, goodnight Pete. Love you," I told him, the words rolling off my tongue.  _Love you_. It was nice being able to tell him that so easily. I rolled over on my side and closed my eyes, pulling the blankets all the way up to my chin.

        "Love you to, Pattycakes," I heard him say just as I was drifting off to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

        I woke up the next morning I woke to an empty bed beside me. Groggily, I rubbed my eyes and sat up, pushing the blankets off of me, and plodded across the room to the bathroom, swinging the door open slowly.

        "'Morning Patrick," Pete said to me with a smile as soon as I opened the door, sitting in the bathtub with his legs hanging over the side, a pen in his hand, and a notebook in his lap.

        His sudden appearance scared the shit out of me and I must've jumped judging by the amused look on his face, giggles threatening to bubble over his lips. "Shit, Pete. You can't do that to me," I told him, laughing just slightly, a hand on my chest and the other on the door frame.

        "Sorry, wasn't my intention," he said, still doing his best not to giggle. As he sobered, his eyes began to roam over me, inspecting my almost naked form. I  _was_  still in what I'd slept in after all: just my boxers. I could feel a blush creeping up onto my cheeks, his gaze making me self-conscious.

        "Could I go pee real quick?" I asked, doing my best to keep my voice even. He shouldn't be making me nervous, but his gaze had a hunger to it, an almost animalistic desire, and I wasn't quite sure how to handle being under it.

        "Yeah, sure," he said, not moving from his position in the bathtub and smiling up at me mischievously, like he had something up his sleeve, or possibly up his pant leg in this case.

        "In private maybe?" I asked, smiling a little.

        Pete shot me look that communicated that he thought I was crazy, because who would want privacy in the  _bathroom_? I rolled my eyes and pulled the shower curtain closed, his legs still sticking out, but he couldn't see me and that was my goal.

        When I was finished, I pulled the curtain back open and he was still sitting there, looking awfully pouty. "Aw, c'mon. It really wasn't that interesting to watch," I told him, doing my best to keep a straight face.

        "Maybe it would've been to me," he insisted, crossing his arms. "You should make it up to me somehow."

        I cocked an eyebrow, shooting him a questioning look before I spoke again. "And just how would I do that?"

        He merely shrugged, pretending to care once again about what he'd been writing in that notebook of his. "That's something you might want to think about," he told me, his tone teasing.

        "Well I'm  _thinking_  you just wanna see me naked," I told him, smirking a little as if I'd just figured something out he didn't think I would.

        Pete's features morphed into a mock shocked expression, looking almost hurt. "Why would you think that? Abstinence until marriage, you dirty bird," he told me, adopting a scolding tone.

        "I think it's a little late for that," I told him, doing my best not to laugh, using a tone that suggested he'd missed something huge.

        "I'm a virgin pure as...something really pure," he told me, finally allowing himself to laugh at both how ridiculous the statement was, and his inability to come up with something pure.

        "Honey, you lost the ability to say that a long time ago," I said, my tone turning sweet.

        He just let out a slightly nervous laugh, saying, "Yeah..."

        "C'mon, let let's get you out of that bathtub," I said, extending my arms to him so he could, in theory, grab them, and I'd help pull him up to his feet.

        "Orrrr," he started, dragging out the end of the word as he grabbed my arms, "You could climb in with me." With that, he pulled me down onto him, my body falling into the tub and landing half on him, half off him.

        "Peeeeete," I whined, dragging his name out much like he'd dragged out "or."

        "Paaaaatriiiiiick," he mimicked, smiling up at me with a mischievous glint in his eye.

        I just rolled my eyes,  _pretending_  to not be amused by his actions and  _pretending_  not to notice the look in his eyes, reminiscent of moments earlier, when I'd asked if I could have some privacy.

        "What do you say to a quick shower?" he asked me, the look in his eyes telling me it'd basically just be sex with the shower head on.

        Before I could even muster up a response, he leaned up and pressed his lips to mine forcefully. He knew how I would've responded before he even asked the question, so allowing me to answer was pointless. I moved my lips against his, pressed together in an almost inseparable bond. He wasted no time slipping his tongue into my mouth, deepening the kiss, and pushing me down so he was hovering above me in the bathtub.

        "Pete, we've still got clothes on. That's a problem if we want to take a shower," I said, trying to sound as innocent as was possible when asking someone to strip.

        "Ah, good point Pattycakes. You have always been the brains," he admitted, laughing a little as he stood up, offering a hand to me. I took it and he helped to pull me up to my feet, climbing out of the tub.

        He immediately began pulling his t-shirt off, throwing it to the floor. I couldn't help but watch, my eyes tracing the lines of his chest as the muscles moved below the skin. He was downright beautiful, the tattoos covering his skin only adding to the aesthetic: the necklace of thorns, the Jack Skellington face, the keyhole, and the logo for Clandestine Industries, the last of which especially I missed running my lips across.

        He seemed to be focused on undressing himself, undoing the buttons on his pants and pushing them down. The metal hit the tile floor with a clack, bouncing off slightly before he stepped out of them, pushing them off to the side with his feet.

        With his hands on the waistband of this boxers, he finally looked up at me, shooting me a half confused and half amused smile. "You know for this to work, you have to get undressed too," Pete told me, the amusement showing in his voice.

        I blushed slightly, shaking my head at myself. "You're just so distracting," I told him, intentionally using a whiny tone as if it annoyed me.

        "Ah, well I try," he told me with a smirk, taking a couple steps and closing the short distance between us, dropping his hands to my waist and hooking his fingers under the elastic of my boxers.

        "Think you could try a little harder?" I asked, adopting a lower tone, more seductive than the last.

        "Definitely," he told me, the smirk never leaving his face as he swiftly pulled my boxers down around my ankles.

~~~~~~~~~


	18. Chapter 18

        Pete shut off the water, climbing out of the shower and grabbing two towels from a rack on the wall, throwing one to me and keeping one for himself. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him as he dried off, running the towel over his head in an almost aggressively fast gesture. God was he sexy after an orgasm.

        Looking away before he caught me again, I stepped out of the tub and unfolded the towel, beginning to dry myself off.

        When I'd walked in here this morning, I sure as hell didn't expect to find Pete still sitting in the bathtub like he said he was going to do last night when I went to bed. Had he slept at all? Maybe he was up for a bit, went to bed, then woke up before me...but he was still in his clothes from the night before.

        "Pete?" I asked, trying to keep the concern from my voice.

        "Yeah?" he answered, tying the towel around his waist and turning toward the mirror.

        "How much sleep did you get last night?" I said, trying once again to sound unconcerned and I'm not sure I was doing too well. Being pretty well dry for the most part, I too wrapped my towel around my waist, tying it near my right hip and resting my hand on the knot. I most definitely didn't want to sound like I was trying to be his mother, but I was a little worried.

        "I haven't been to bed yet," he told me as if it were nothing, as if he weren't sleep deprived, as he turned from the mirror and leaned back against the counter, meeting my gaze.

        "Maybe it would be a good idea to get some," I suggested softly, keeping my tone anything but commanding.

        "But I just 'got some' from you," he told me with a smirk like he thought he was clever and that comment was, I'll give him that.

        I allowed myself a small smile, shaking my head and hesitating a moment before responding. "That's not what I meant. Maybe you should get some  _sleep_ ," I told him, hardening my tone just a fraction from last time.

        "I'm fine, I don't need sleep," he told me, his brows furrowing in confusion, barely visible anger bubbling just below the surface.

        "Pete, you're human. You need sleep." My tone was adamant this time, telling him this wasn't his choice although I had no way of forcing it. Maybe I'd just make him think I did and it would work.

        "You can't tell me what to do," he said, his tone even stronger than mine due to the anger within it. His eyes flared as he spoke, fists clenching the edge of the counter behind him.

        "I'm only doing this because I care about you; I'm worried, Pete," I told him, making an effort not to be angry with him. If I kept my cool, maybe he wouldn't become any angrier.

        "Whatever. I'm going to find something to do," he informed me, rushing out of the bathroom, throwing on some clothes that didn't match, and heading out the door, his hair still wet.

        His actions lately were worrying me beyond belief. He seemed happy, but he just wasn't himself and that was scary for everyone involved.

        I didn't normally look at anything Pete wrote until he explicitly told me to, but this time I didn't think a peek into that notebook he'd been writing in all night would hurt, or would at least help more than hurt. Sitting on the back of the toilet is where I found it, face down and shut with a pen stuck in the spiral that ran down the side, holding the scattered thoughts together.

        I picked it up and flipped it over, the red cover scratched and even missing a few chunks here and there. Did I really want to look in here? Pete wouldn't be happy with me, that was almost certain, but a peek into his mind at the moment wouldn't hurt and since he wouldn't talk to me, this would have to do.

        Decoding what he wrote to find what he actually meant would be the hard part, though.

        Hesitantly, I flipped the cover over to the first page only to find it blank. Dirty and torn in places, but blank. 

        The next page was the same, less worn, but lacking any writing what so ever.

        Every page was like that until I made it nearly to the end and found a page entirely covered in writing, without any space to mark another letter. His handwriting, let alone the cramped space made it incredibly difficult to read but I was able to make out some of it.

_I'm in the details with the devil_

_So now the world can never get me on my level_

_They scream when they look at me_

          _I'm a star_

_Watch us until we blur_

         _Walk off into the sunset_

_I'm on deck_

_I'm up next_

         _Tonight I'm high as a private jet_

_It's all over now before it has begun_

_We've already won_  

        At least that's what I think it said. Some words were written over or scribbled out, but that was my best guess. What I got out of those at first read was that he was mentally in a good place, or at least thought he was. He saw himself as perfectly fine, absolutely nothing wrong and that's what worried me the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know I spliced lyrics from several songs together. It's not meant as though Pete was writing a song; he was just writing several lines that don't necessarily belong together and if they're incorrect, it's because Patrick couldn't make out some of the letters and totally not because I looked them up online instead of putting forth the effort to look in the booklets sitting 5 feet from my computer.


	19. Chapter 19

        I heard my phone buzz in the other room almost as soon as I set Pete's notebook down, shut and face down once again.  _Ding!_ went the small, infernal at times, device, interrupting my train of thought and effectively yanking me back into reality.

        It was probably something important so I began the search for the cellphone, hoping it wouldn't be a difficult one. After a check on the dresser, bed side table, and suitcase, I found it on the small couch without a clue of when I'd thrown it there.

_One new message_

        Opening it, I found it was from our manager, a reminder that we were leaving at 10:30 in order to make it to San Francisco in plenty of time. With our departure only an hour away, I threw on some clothes that I thought were (at least half way) clean and began gathering my things back up. I wasn't terribly messy so it wasn't hard, but getting it to all fit into that suitcase was the most difficult part.

        Pete, on the other hand, had clothes strewn everywhere even though we hadn't been staying here long and, reluctantly, I gathered them up and stuffed them into his suite case. I deserved a "Boyfriend of the Year" award or something. Judging by the way he'd stormed out though, I think he might disagree.

        I still wondered why my telling him he needed sleep bothered him so badly, though. He seemed to be a little on edge from the moment I brought it up to him and that wasn't like Pete. I mean, he's not exactly the most calm and collected guy in general, but that was hot-headed even for him and it worried me.

        It seems like I was saying that about a lot of things lately: "it worried me." Maybe I'm just a nervous little man, but maybe I've got a right to be so nervous. Pete's had bad bouts with depression in the past; who's to say this wasn't another one creeping up?  _That_  is certainly something worth worrying about.

        My boyfriend appeared to be the root of a lot of my stress lately and this only added to it, but if this does turn out to be another of his "episodes," my stress levels aren't important.

        Making sure he gets through it will be, because there's a fair chance that he wouldn't make it out alive if it's a bad one and I couldn't imagine my life without Pete. Not only is he my boyfriend, but he's my band mate and, most importantly, my best friend.

        I grabbed our bags and leaned them against the wall near the door so they'd be ready to go when it was time, and decided just a quick nap wouldn't hurt anything.

~~~~~~

_Riiinnnng!...Riiinnnng!...Riiinnnng!_

        The sound of an incoming phone call woke me from my rest, startling me rather than a soft, gradual wake like I would've preferred. Groggily, I reached over to the bedside table, my hand landing on the small, overly noisy device and gripping it. Just as I was opening my eyes, I brought the phone up to my ear.

        "Hello?" I asked, my voice sleep-ridden and scratchy. I hadn't even bothered to check who it was calling so it was a bit of a surprise to hear the voice I did on the other end.

        "Patrick? Are you planning on making the trip with us?" I heard Joe ask me from the other end, a slight smile evident in his voice.

        "Um, yeah...?" I said, confused as to why he would ask that until I glanced at the digital clock displaying the time on the bedside table. 10:45 it read, meaning I was just a little late  _again_. "Oh shit. I'll be down in a bit," I told him before hanging up the phone without a response from him and shoving it in my pocket. It seemed my tardiness was becoming normal. Maybe I should just start setting alarms for everything. I might be on time then.  _Might_.

        I hurried over to the door where I'd set my suitcase and did a quick scan of the room for anything I might've left behind and saw nothing. Only my bag was sitting there so Pete must've come up and grabbed his already. Why he hadn't woken me then, I don't know.

        With the bag rolling behind me, I rushed towards the elevator, wondering how much slower could it possibly be. That's normal for hotel elevators, though, especially when one just so happens to be in a hurry.

        I did make it down there eventually, though, and found Andy and Joe waiting in the lobby for me.

        "Where's Pete?" I asked as I walked up at a much slower pace than when I'd ran down the hallway upstairs. 

        "Already in the car. He said he had something to do," Andy told me, accompanied by a shrug.

     "Let's go!" someone on our team shouted at us from just outside, obviously getting a little impatient. I guess I couldn't blame them. Losing 15 minutes can mean a lot.


	20. Chapter 20

        I sat in the back row of the van next to Pete with Andy and Joe on the row in front of us. My boyfriend appeared to be too busy writing in that notebook to even notice us climb into the van. I hadn't even seen him look up when the door opened. He didn't have headphones in; he was just tuning  _everything_  out.

        I was used to his "leave me alone, I've got to write before I lose this" attitude surfacing occasionally (that was how he'd written many of our favorite songs of ours, after all), but it had never been this long or even this intense. Pete wasn't one that had an easy time blocking everything out normally, but damn was he focused.

        He'll usually see some sense in my suggestions, too. When I told him he needed sleep, he'd denied it to the point that he had gotten angry about it and stormed out.

        Maybe that's what his attitude right now was about: maybe he was still mad at me over that and was only pretending to not notice my entrance.

        Or maybe I was just over thinking all this.

        Our manager began briefing us on what was going to happen today as soon as the door slid shut and the van took off down the road, turning around in his seat at the front to face us. 3 blank stares met him, absorbing the information but tuning out as much as possible. The fourth hadn't even looked up from his notebook still.

        "Pete," he said, trying to get his attention as if we were back in high school and our manager was the teacher, Pete the delinquent student.

        When he didn't look up, he repeated his name, louder and more forcefully. "Pete!"

        Again, no response.

        "Dammit, Pete," he said almost as a sigh, shaking his head. "Patrick, fill him in when he decides he's going to look up from that fucking notebook."

        "I'll try but I don't think he's in the mood to respond to anybody," I told him, an eyebrow cocked as if to say  _yeah, like I can do that._

        "Then let him have no fucking clue what's going on. I don't give a shit," he said me, throwing his hands up in frustration as he turned back around in his seat.

        I hesitated a moment or two before reaching over and poking him in the arm with my pointer finger. "Pete," I almost called, poking him again. "Hey Pete."

        There was no response, he just kept writing in that damn notebook.

        "Peeeete," I said, dragging out his name. My finger connected with his arm every time I spoke, but still I received no response.

        "Pete Wentz."

        Nothing.

        "Petey Pie."

        Nope.

        "Do you want any pizza?"

        Nada.

        "Peter."

        Nothing I tried worked so I just gave up, Andy and Joe having been laughing at me the entire time.

        "So, was that an actual offer for pizza or...?" Joe asked, a cautiously hopeful tone to his voice as he turned slightly in his seat to face me.

        I just smiled softly, shaking my head, and admitting, "Nope, just trying to get his attention."

        "Dammit," he muttered in disappointment as he turned back around in his seat.

        I shook my head at him, turning to look out the window and resting my chin in my hand. This is going to be a long drive. Being the idiot I am, I'd forgotten to plug my iPod in last night, so I couldn't even plug some headphones in to pass the time. Normally I'd borrow Pete's, but considering the fact that he wasn't responding, that was out of the question.

        I don't know what had gotten into him lately. He'd been just downright crazy: not sleeping and always writing, but he didn't see anything as being wrong. Ask him, and he's perfectly fine, better than normal even, and I think that's what worried me most.

        I pulled my phone out of my pocket and tapped on the Safari icon, figuring a quick Google search couldn't hurt things.

_Causes of lack of sleep and an increase in productivity, but they think they're fine_

        I hit return and a moment later, the results loaded, sliding onto the screen. The first link looked promising so I tapped it, watching as the blue bar slid across the screen, showing the loading process. Way too slowly it moved, slinking across until it finally reached the other side and disappeared, the web page fully loaded.

        The headline scared me to death because I thought Pete had gotten that under control a long time ago. It hadn't crossed my mind as a possibility because it never caused problems for him anymore. Elevated mood, a need for constant activity, no need for sleep, increased productivity and desire to create, irritability, hypersexuality...It fit and I didn't like it at all.

_What a Hypomanic Bipolar Episode Consists Of_


	21. Chapter 21

        I don't know what to do with Pete.

        He's scaring me to death and I don't know how to help him.  
  
        The scariest part is probably that I thought he had all this under control. Was he just not taking his medicine or did it suddenly decide to not work for him? Or was he getting worse? I realized how little I actually knew about bipolar disorder and Pete's struggles with it in that moment and resigned to finding out more very quickly.  
  
        I could do a quick internet search and find out more about bipolar disorder in general, but if he won't talk to me, I couldn't find out about the things he's gone through.  
  
        I spent the rest of the ride to San Francisco reading what I could find on this particular mental illness and actually learned quite a bit, but nothing on how to help Pete in his manic state. I wanted to do whatever I could for him, but I'd need to know what my options were first. This was all new to me and it's not like it came with an instruction booklet because if it had, I would've read that as quickly as possible, probably starting with the chapter on how to get them to talk to others.  
  
        "Patrick, we're here," Andy told me when I didn't move, standing expectantly outside the van and looking in at me. Everyone, including Pete had already exited the vehicle, but Andy and Joe were the only ones still outside. Everyone else, it appears, had gone inside the hotel already.  
  
        "Oh, whoops," I muttered to myself as I slipped my phone into my pocket and climbed out of the van, pulling the door shut behind me.  
  
        I walked in front of Joe and Andy on our way inside, the other two men lingering behind me a little ways.  
  
        Just as I was walking through the doorway, something Andy said floated up to me that I probably wasn't meant to hear: "Stop it, someone could see us."  
  
        ~~~~~~~~  
  
        "Pete, will you talk to me?"   
  
        We were in our hotel room, getting situated when I asked him that. He hadn't even looked at me and we'd been in here close to 20 minutes if I had to guess. It may not have been that long, though, because time tended to drag when one's boyfriend was intently ignoring them from a few feet away.   
  
        "Sure, Pattycakes. What's up?" he asked me from where he was sitting on the bed, moving the notebook from his lap to the space beside him on the mattress.  
  
        I shot him a questioning look, asking, "Oh, not much. Just wondering why you decided to ignore everyone in the first place, and then talk to me like nothing happened."  
  
        A concerned look crossed his face, as if he were hurt by what I'd said. "I'm sorry, I just needed to get some lyrics down is all. I didn't realize I'd made anyone angry. You know I can have tunnel vision sometimes."  
  
        "Not like  _that_. You didn't even react to what was going on around you. I was worried about you. Hell, I still am," I told him, the last bit sounding like an admission that I didn't want to leave my mouth. Running a hand through my hair, I knocked my fedora of my head and watched as Pete's eyes followed it to the ground. I didn't even bother to pick it up.  
  
        His eyes soon found my face again, but not before traveling up my body painfully slowly. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm perfectly fine," he told me, sounding as if that's what he truly believed, and it probably was. That was part of a manic episode - feeling as if one is perfectly fine or even better than that - if I remembered correctly.  
  
        I simply pursed my lips, remaining silent as I scrutinized his expression, wondering just what was going through that pretty little head of his.  
  
        "Come here, Patrick," he told me, reaching his arms out in my direction as if he were a toddler that wanted a toy across the room.  
  
        I cocked an eyebrow, wondering just why I was being summoned but went anyway, making my way over to the space just beside the bed and standing there with an expectant look crossing my features. "Yes?"  
  
        "You're not  _here_  yet," he whined, patting the narrow space on the bed beside him and, as if realizing just how narrow it was, scooting over a little. Pete looked up at me with puppy dog eyes, as if begging me to climb onto the bed.  
  
        I sighed, trying my best to keep a smile from my lips, and shook my head as I lied down next to him. He immediately pulled me closer and I complied, resting my head on his chest, sliding my eyes closed, and intertwining our legs.  
  
        "You're such a good pillow," I told him as his arms wrapped around me, holding me tightly against him.  
  
        "Just a good pillow?" he asked, implying he might be good for something else. When I opened my eyes once again, I saw there was a small smirk curving his lips, as if he were trying to conceal it and doing a very poor job of it.  
  
        "Well, you're pretty good for some other things too," I admitted, intentionally leaving it vague so as to not lead him on although he could probably run with it if he tried.  
  
        "How about we put my other talents to use?" he said, keeping his voice low and seductive, leaning down to press his lips to mine for a quick kiss to reinforce what he was saying.  
  
        "Yeah, sure. We could play some music if you want," I told him with a smirk, knowing full well that's not what he meant.  
  
        "I was thinking something a little more...intimate," he said, the smile evident in his voice, amused by my smart ass comment.  
  
        "Oh yeah? Like what?" I asked, feigning innocence.  
  
        "How about I show you," he suggested, not even hesitating before pressing his lips to mine again, leaving them there this time, and moving so he was on top of me, his body hovering just above mine.  
  
        I didn't bother responding verbally, just going along with his actions and moving my hands up to rest on his hips. His right hand slowly trailed down my body, stopping at the waist of my jeans where he tried to unbutton them with one hand, obviously struggling a little.  
  
        Suddenly, the article I'd read on bipolar disorder came back to me. Hypersexuality was an effect of a hypomanic episode and it would probably be a good idea to stop what we were doing.  
  
        "Pete," I said, trying to get his attention. He didn't respond, probably thought I was just saying his name like I often do in bed.  
  
        "Pete," I repeated, putting more force behind my words as I spoke. "Pete, stop."  
  
        He finally did, looking up at me expectantly, cluelessly saying, "What?"  
  
        "I'm not in the mood," I lied, not knowing how to tell him he was only horny because the chemicals in his brain were fucked up.  
  
        A look of confusion crossed his face, probably because I'd led him on then suddenly told him no, but it quickly disappeared as if he were hiding it.  
  
        "Oh, ok. Sorry," he said climbing off of me and going back to how he was sitting before I'd climbed onto the bed with his knees up and back against the headboard. He grabbed his notebook and disappeared into it again, shutting me and everybody else out again.


	22. Chapter 22

        This was our last show before Christmas and I intended to make the most of it because who doesn't love Christmas (among those who celebrate it, that is)? I'd even bought a red Santa hat to replace my usual fedora for the occasion. 

        I was sitting in my dressing room, fiddling with my guitar when I heard a knock on the door. "It's unlocked," I called to whomever stood on the other side.

        The knob twisted and the door opened, Joe's head appearing in the small opening. "Hey Patrick, you wanna help me wrap some garland around the mic stands?" he asked, holding up a fairly large wad of the stuff. So large, in fact, that it swallowed his entire hand, took it completely from my view. Green, red, and gold, the papery plastic shone in the light.  
  
        "Yeah, sure. You've got tape, right?" I said, standing up and putting the guitar back in its stand.  
  
        "Right here," he told me as he showed me his other hand, two things of clear gift wrap tape between his fingers.  
  
        "Alright, let's go then."  
  
        We thankfully were smart enough to do this before they let people into the venue so we didn't have to deal with screaming fans as we taped up the garland, but the large space was bustling with sound and light technicians still setting up for the show. At the center of the stage, Joe dropped the pile and handed me one roll of tape.  
  
        "I'll get Andy's drum kit and the support for the risers if you want to take the mic stands," he offered as we began to sift through the heap of tinsel to separate individual strands of it.  
  
        "Works for me," I told him, pulling out a gold strand and inspecting it. This one, I decided, would go on Pete's stand.  
  
        The hum of people milling about, setting things up, quickly became monotonous and acted as simply white noise as I wound the piece around the stand, applying tape on each end. Pete and I had talked since I pushed him off of me, but not nearly as much as we would have regularly. I don't think I had too much right to complain, though, since he could've disappeared entirely into that notebook again, speaking to absolutely no one.  
  
        Once I'd gotten that one done, I headed back to the pile and untangled a green one for Joe's mic stand and started winding that one around the pole. The mindless activity allowed my thoughts to wander once more to Pete, this time how I was going to confront him about all this. How am I supposed to tell him that he is in the middle of a hypomanic episode and he needs to see a doctor about it? It's not something I have any experience in doing and don't have the slightest clue on how to even go about it. I didn't want to say the wrong thing and risk having him retreat back into that notebook again or, worse, fall into an episode of the opposite effect. This man is going to give me gray hairs with all the stress he's causing me.  
  
        Lastly, I wound a red piece around my stand, finishing up just as Joe was.  
  
        "You done, Patrick?" he asked from where he was standing, right next to Andy's drum kit.  
  
        "Yup, just put the last piece of tape on," I told him, standing up and brushing my hands off as if it had been taxing work.  
  
        "Let's head down where the crowd will be and see how it looks," he suggested, leaping off the risers and walking towards me. We jumped off the front of the stage (well, Joe jumped. What I did was closer to a slide) and climbed over the barricades, into the pit.  
  
        "Not too shabby," I said, looking up at the stage from the back of the pit, hands on my hips.  
  
        "Yeah, I think we did a damn fine job," Joe agreed, turning to me and lifting his hand for a high five. I reached up to hit his hand with mine, but just as they were about to touch, he lifted his hand higher, just out of my reach. Joe isn't overly tall, but he's almost a full half a foot taller than me, definitely enough to hold things over my head.  
  
        "C'mon Patrick. Don't leave me hanging," he teased, keeping his hand held high above my head.  
  
        "You're an asshole," I told him, punching him in the arm and turning to walk away, fighting back a smile as I walked.  
  
        "I know," I heard him say, his own smile evident in his voice.  
  
        On my way back to my dressing room, I ran into Pete who hooked his arm with mine and walked with me as if we were two 10 year old girls. I didn't entirely mind, though. He led me back to my dressing room and we fell onto the couch, his arms winding around me immediately.  
  
        "So am I ever going to get to see these lyrics you've been obsessively writing lately?" I asked him after a moment, not even moving my head to look up at him because, quite frankly, I was pretty comfy as is.  
  
        "Not yet. Maybe once they're a little more..." he paused, as if he wasn't sure what word he wanted to use there. "Coherent."  
  
        "What do you mean?" I asked even though I already had an idea. When I'd looked in his notebook, they were all written on top of each other, but I couldn't exactly tell him I'd looked in there.  _That_  would open a whole new can of worms.  
  
        "They're just not really put together at the moment. They're really just lines here and there," he told me as if it were an embarrassing admission.  
  
        I nodded against him, saying, "Oh, ok. Well I'm glad you're talking again. I missed hearing your voice." At that last bit, I turned and smiled up at him, planting a kiss on his cheek before resting my head back against him.  
  
        I smiled, shaking his head a little. "I'm glad too; I missed our conversations," he told me, sounding entirely sincere.  
  
        That was the thing with Pete; when he wasn't being sincere, it was obvious to anyone who knew him at all. The way the sounds wrapped around each other as he spoke, sliding off of his tongue in a graceful leap, was entirely and wholeheartedly sincere. I would say being able to easily tell came in handy often, but he's typically pretty straightforward so it doesn't.   
  
        "You ready for the show tonight?" I asked him, burying my face in him and muffling my voice in the process.  
  
        "Last one before we're home for Christmas? Yeah, this should be a fun show," he said, pulling me tighter against his body as he spoke. "Are you?"  
  
        "Yup. Joe and I even wrapped the mic stands and Andy's drum kit in tinsel," I told him, smiling despite him not being able to see my face. "And I've got a Santa hat I plan on wearing."  
  
        I could tell Pete was shaking his head although I couldn't see him. It was the tone of voice that gave it away; Pete didn't simply use that tone and  _not_  shake his head. "You and you're hats..." he said, chucking slightly by the end.  
  
        "You know you love 'em," I told him, lifting my head just so I could shoot him a big 'ol cheesy smile before quickly burying it again.  
  
        "Oh I do, but you're a dork," he laughed, kissing the top of my head.  
  
 _10 minutes until showtime_! an announcement came across the speakers in the room, letting us know we would go on in a short time.


	23. Chapter 23

        That night Pete decided he was going to steal my Santa hat for the last couple songs on our set, which the fans loved, but what really made them cheer was  _how_  he took it from me. In the middle of the song, he came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and took the ball at the tip of the hat in his teeth, flicking his head to pull it off. He'd smiled like a dog who'd just been told he was a good boy and backed away, dropping it into his hands and pulling it onto his own head a moment before he had to continue playing.   
  
        He'd kept it on until the very end, about the time Andy would throw a few drumsticks out into the crowd, and handed it back to me then. Instead of keeping it, I hurtled the hat into the crowd, watching as the hungry hands grabbed for it, fingers like gnashing teeth. Fleetingly, I thought how lucky I was to not be that hat. As I turned to walk off stage, I waved to the fans one last time, a smile stretching across my lips intended for each and every one of them. God, I just  _adore_  our fans.  
  
        As soon as we were out of sight of the fans, Pete wrapped me up in his arms and pressed his lips to mine with a new found force. My initial reaction was just surprise, but I soon melted into the kiss, wrapping my hands around him much like his were around me. He'd pulled us unbelievably close, our bodies pressed together as if we were in the privacy of our hotel room rather than backstage with people milling about everywhere. He smelled of sweat and fuel from the pyrotechnics, but that just seemed to make it all the sweeter.  
  
        When we pulled apart, we both had to catch our breath, neither of us having been taking a chance to actually breathe during the kiss. From a little ways away, we could hear Joe whistle at us, a wide smile overtaking his features. That man ships us just as hard as the fans do, I swear.  
  
        I simply blushed and shake my head, turning my attention back to Pete soon enough. "What was the about?" I asked him, amusement lacing my tone.  
  
        He just shrugged, replying with, "Why not? I felt like kissing you, do you have a problem with that?"  
  
        In response, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his once again for a much quicker kiss this time. "Not at all," I muttered against his lips before pulling away, a teasing smirk playing on my features.  
  
        "Love you, Stump," he said, shaking his head at me slightly, as if he thought I were entirely ridiculous and he hated that he loved me partially because of that ridiculousness.   
  
        "Love you too, Wentz," I responded, shooting him a smile before a voice came across the room.  
  
        "Get a room, you two!" Joe yelled to us, Andy standing next to him, both of them acting as if they were disgusted by our PDA.  
  
         "Maybe you should quit staring," Pete shouted back in a friendly manner, his smile audible, but they'd already turned away, focused on each other as they walked in the direction of the dressing rooms. The pair walked awfully closely, and if I didn't know better, I'd say they were holding hands, but they wouldn't do that.  
  
        "C'mon, let's get ready to head to the hotel," I told Pete, grabbing his hand and beginning to drag him behind me as I started in the direction of the dressing rooms. He groaned, lightly pulling against my grip as we walked until I stopped, pulling him close to me and whispering, "What? You don't want to get back to the hotel and crawl into bed with me?"  
  
        His expression changed, his eyes almost lighting up, and I suppressed a laugh as it turned to him pulling me towards the dressing rooms.  
  
        "Whoa, calm down," I told him, letting out that laugh I'd held back.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
        "Come here," Pete almost whined, holding his arms out towards me like a child reaching for a toy well out of their grasp. He sat on the bed, stripped down to just his boxers, hair standing in every direction imaginable. I love it when his hair is like that, because somehow it manages to make him even  _more_  adorable.  
  
        "Give me just a minute, I'm not sleeping with my jeans on," I told him, using a tone that suggested he needed to gain some patience and shooting him a look to match.  
  
        "Ugh, fiiine," he said, throwing his head back in an overly dramatic fashion that communicated he was beyond done with my speed.  
  
        I took my time pulling my clothes off, climbing under the blankets in just my boxers a couple minutes later. Immediately, his warm arms wrapped around me and pulled me close to him, my head resting on his chest.  
  
        "Goodnight Pattycakes," he breathed, kissing the top of my head, then resting his chin there.  
  
        "Goodnight Petey Pie," I responded, using a sickeningly affectionate name that also had to do with sweets. He smiled, letting out a singular, breathy laugh at the name.  
  
        In that moment with his arms around me, it felt as if we could stay that way forever and I didn't mind.


	24. Chapter 24

        My alarm went off at 8AM sharp the next morning, telling us that we needed to get up because our flight back to Chicago left in 3 hours. I, however, did  _not_  want to get up because the combination of the warm blankets and Pete's arms around me made my current situation pretty favorable.  
  
        "C'mon Partycakes. We gotta get up," Pete told me, shaking my shoulders in a feeble attempt to wake me.  
  
        "I'm up," I mumbled without bothering to open my eyes.  
  
        "You're  _awake_ , but you're not  _up_ ," he countered, continuing to shake my body.  
  
        "So? Neither are you," I said, my tone intentionally a little whiny.  
  
        "Because you're laying on my arm."  
  
        "Mm, but it's so comfy."  
  
        That earned a chuckle from Pete and I could tell he was shaking his head without even looking because I knew him way too well. "C'mon, we're supposed to leave here in an hour and we both need showers," he told me in an attempt to get me out of bed. Usually he was trying to get  _into_  bed.  
  
        "Then let's just shower together and save time. That way we can sleep in a little more," I suggested without even opening my eyes.  
  
        "You know, I like the way you think, but no. We'll end up taking longer with that one than we would with separate showers," he countered, the amused smile on his face audible.  
  
        I groaned in displeasure before submitting to Pete and sitting up, the blankets falling off of our bodies and exposing us to the cold air as I did so. Immediately, I wanted to crawl back under the blankets and sleep a little longer. Pete sat up shortly after I had, crawling over and wrapping his arms around me from behind, burying his face in my neck.  
  
        "I thought we had to get going for the day?" I asked him, wondering why he was suddenly the lazy one.  
  
        "We do. I can't give my boyfriend a quick kiss first?" he asked rhetorically before leaning at an awkward angle and pressing his lips to mine in an even more awkward kiss, but it was a kiss from Pete so I guess I couldn't complain.  
  
        I just laughed as he untangled his arms from around me and stood up, his boxers hanging crookedly on his hips and his hair even more insane than it had been last night, but that's what made him Pete,  _my_  Pete, that I wouldn't trade for the world.  
  
        "If you want to take your shower first, I can make sure we've got everything together and ready to go," he offered, gesturing to the bathroom door.  
  
        "Sounds good," I told him, nodding as I stood up and headed towards the bathroom for my shower.   
  
        An hour or so later, we were in the elevator on our way down to the lobby, and by "or so" I  _definitely_  don't mean we were a little late because of me again. As we walked up, Joe simply rolled his eyes at us, shaking his head slightly. Andy was into something on his phone and hadn't even noticed much of anything was going on.  
  
        "You guys ready?" Joe asked us, pulling on Andy's sleeve as if to literally pull him out of the small device. It worked because he immediately looked up, nodded, and put his phone in his pocket.  
  
        "I think so," Pete told him and I nodded, subconsciously emphasizing what he'd said.  
  
        "You guys had better be. It's already 7 minutes past when we were supposed to leave," Andy said, a mock stern look on his face as he glanced over at us, pretending to scold.  
  
        "Oh, wait! I forgot something in the room," Pete told us, beginning to turn away but stopping, a smile curving his face before he'd even done a 180 to let us know he was joking.  
  
        "You'd better not have," Joe jokingly threatened, pointing a finger and all.  
  
        "I didn't, don't worry Dad," Pete teased him, rolling his eyes like the defiant teenager he still acted like on occasion.  
  
        Joe just stuck his tongue out at the other man, playfully glaring. Andy and I just laughed, amused by their antics.   
  
        "C'mon, we've got to get going," I told them, starting to walk towards the doors. They soon followed suit, walking in a line behind me as if I were mother duck and they my little ducklings.  
  
        Joe hailed a taxi, the four of us piling in, and told the driver where we were headed. Pete, Andy, and I were more than cozy in the back seat and Joe noticed, shooting us a smug look from the front seat. Pete imitated Joe's earlier action, sticking his tongue out at the slightly more fortunate man.   
  
        "You're just jealous," Joe said, narrowing his eyes at my boyfriend.  
  
        "No, not at all. This gives me an excuse to cuddle up next to Patrick," Pete told him, trying not to laugh as he snuggled up next to me, wrapping his arms around me and resting his head on my shoulder.   
  
        "Oh, c'mon. Keep it in your pants. I'm stuck back here with you two too," Andy mock complained, leaning away from us.  
  
        That's when Pete spoke up again, a mischievous smirk curving his lips that caused me to worry about what was soon to leave his mouth, pulling away from me slightly at the same time. "I don't know, Andy. A threesome might be fun," he said, obviously joking but trying to make it sound as if he weren't.  
  
        I hit him lightly in the back of the head, saying, "Hey! You're only allowed to flirt with me." I did my best to look neglected and hurt by his sudden interest in Andy, sticking my bottom lip out and directing my gaze towards the floor in a pout.  
  
        "Awww, poor lil Patrick," Pete exclaimed, immediately wrapping his arms around me again, snuggling back up to me even more so that he had been a few moments earlier.  
  
        Joe and Andy both "aawww"ed like they thought we were the cutest thing.


	25. Chapter 25

        Christmas had seemed to sneak up on us this year, appearing out of nowhere and rearing it's big, red and green, and ornament-ornament covered face all of a sudden. It shouldn't seem that way - it was the same time each year, after all - but no one seemed to realize that it was coming until just before, which usually turned out to be the first of December or so. For me, it was mere days before when I realized I hadn't done any of my shopping.

        The 22nd of December isn't a great time to start one's holiday shopping, but when did I ever do anything the best way? Certainly not now, that's for sure. Fortunately, this was my situation just about every year so I knew how to get it done.

        The difficult part this year is that Pete and I are spending Christmas at my house together along with the few days leading up to it, which meant Pete would be searching for his present under the tree. Once we got it up, anyway. At the moment, the plastic tree was still in my attic and Pete had run to his place to unpack and repack his bags. That left me alone in an unfestive house during a very festive time of year.

        I dragged my suitcase upstairs to my bedroom, swinging it up and onto my bed where I unzipped the container and began unpacking it. The clothes all smelled of sweat and concert - even the ones I hadn't worn on stage. It was as if the stage clothes had infected the rest with their smell and it made for an overpowering and unpleasant scent.

        I grabbed what couldn't be thrown in the washer and set it aside before grabbing the entire suitcase and carrying it into the laundry room. I dumped the entire contents into the machine, doing my best to not even touch the clothing as if it would infect my hand with its scent also.  _That_  is one load of laundry that I really couldn't wait to get out of my sight.

        By the time I'd packed my suitcase back into my closet and finished putting away all my shoes and toiletries and such, Pete burst through my front door, calling my name in an overly dramatic way, dragging out each letter.

        In response, I did the same with his name as I found my way to the front door.

        "Oh, I haven't seen you in forever!" Pete exclaimed, a smile that was all cheese curving his lips as he walked towards me, leaving his bag by the door, and enveloping me in a hug. I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his scarf-covered neck. For once, he was bundled up, dressed appropriately for the weather. As he pulled away, he glanced around what he could see of my house, saying, "Well, your house is in need of some serious Christmas cheer."

        "Take your coat off and your bag up to my bedroom and meet me in the attic, then we can start decorating if it really bothers you that much," I told him teasingly, a playful smile curving my lips.

        He began stripping his coat off, messily hanging it on the hook, and ran upstairs to my bedroom faster than I could say "tinsel." Despite him having to do more before he headed to the attic, he beat me there, waiting under the door for me with a playfully impatient look covering his features.

        That look was 100% Pete, back to normal, off of his manic episode and that was the best gift I could've asked for this year. I just wanted my normal Pete back and here he was, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for me. He seemed to return to normal as if by magic, like someone had flipped a switch up in that pretty little head of his. If we were lucky, maybe he wouldn't have another episode and his medication would work from now on, but I wasn't going to hold my breath on that.

        "I'm coming, have patience," I said as I walked towards him, shaking my head slightly at his act.

        "C'mon, we don't have all day," he told me, over exaggerating as he playfully rolled his eyes at me.

        "Actually, I think we do unless you have other plans," I countered, shooting him a questioning look as I stepped forward, directly below the drop down door. A string hung down that when pulled, it would bring the ladder down. In order to reach it, I had to stand on my toes.

        Pete shot me a look that suggested he did in fact have other plans, saying, "Well, not really except for maybe crawling into bed with you tonight so make sure you save some energy for that. Other than that, nope, no other plans." His tone was casual, as if he were talking about a trip to the supermarket rather than fucking me senseless.

        It was my turn to roll my eyes as the ladder slid down, narrowly missing my head. "I'll be sure to be plenty energetic for you tonight, don't worry," I told him with a slight smirk curving my lips as I began ascending the ladder into the attic with Pete following shortly behind.

        "Nice ass," I heard him mutter a moment before I reached the top, something I'm not entirely sure I was meant to hear. Since I wasn't quite sure how to respond to a statement like that, I didn't and instead simply acted as if I didn't hear him.

        "Well, the tree is over against that wall with the ornaments in the tote in front of it. The other decorations are in that tote there," I told him, pointing at different boxes as I spoke to show him what I meant.

        "Let's grab the 'other decorations' first," he suggested, starting on his way over to them.

        Getting them down the ladder was the trick. I stood at the bottom of the ladder, Pete at the top with the box right at the edge of the opening.

        "Ready?" he called down to me, unable to see me around the box. When I told him I was, he slid the box forward until it was hanging vertically against the ladder, his hands on the higher end and my hands braced against the lower. "Got it?"

        "Yup, you can let go," I told him, and that's exactly what he did, releasing the box so I was the only thing keeping it off the ground. I slowly slid it down the ladder until it hit the floor and I pushed it out of the way, against the wall.

        The ornament box went pretty smoothly, much like the first one had, but the tree's tote was much longer, more awkwardly shaped, than the previous two, which made it much more difficult to bring down the ladder. We still thought using our original method was a good idea, though.

        When he let go of the box, it was much heavier than I'd expected and as I tried to slide it downwards, it slipped from my fingers, barreling down the rest of the ladder. Lucky for me, I'd immediately jumped backwards so when the box hit the floor, fell over on it's side with a violent crash, and bust open, it didn't hit me.

        Pete had been watching the entire thing from the safety of above and was now laughing his ass off at my clumsiness.

        "Shut up, Pete," I told him, an embarrassed smile curving my lips that matched the rose color sneaking up on my cheeks.

        "Oh c'mon. It was funny," he countered, grinning down at me with barely suppressed giggles. His laughter seemed to be contagious, an airborne toxin that quickly infected me. This was just about the only disease I wouldn't complain about catching because the symptoms were uncontrollable giggles and a smile one just couldn't wipe of of their face. Patient Zero was the same for every outbreak, but no one knew of a cure because no one really  _wanted_  a cure for such a pleasant disease.

        When the giggles had finally subsided and we'd been cured of the 'plague,' I told him with an excessive amount of playful sass, "Get your ass down here and help me clean this up."

        And that's exactly what he did: climbed down the ladder and helped me pile the tree back into the box only so we could carry it down the stairs and dump it all out again. Pete pointed out how backwards it seemed, but he did it anyway because the easiest way isn't always the most straightforward and maybe we could learn something from that realization. Our relationship began in a very, perhaps overly, straightforward manner and it sure as hell hasn't been easy. We've fought and broken up, but we ended up back together maybe because we're meant to be or maybe because we're stupid enough to keep going back to each other. Either way, I realize that perhaps if we'd taken a less direct route to where we are now, it might've easier.

        Though when has anything easy every been as fun as something one has to work for?


	26. Chapter 26

        "You know what January 6th is?" Pete asked me. We were sitting my living room, cuddling on the couch, and half watching the evening news. I'd lit the fireplace and we'd finished putting the tree and such decorations up a little bit ago. Our Christmas spirit was in full swing. All we needed were wrapped presents under the tree. Tomorrow my mission would be finding a present for Pete.

        I directed my thoughts back to what Pete had said about January 6th and frantically tried to come up with what it could possibly be. I didn't have a clue so I hoped it wasn't anything big.

        "Uh, no, not really," I admitted, moving so I could look up at him. He'd had his arm around my shoulders and I was curled up against his chest. That position wasn't prime for making eye contact.

        He shook his head as if he didn't really expect me to know, but had hoped anyway. "Guess."

        "Hmm...Hemmingway's birthday?" I tried, talking about his little English bulldog that was currently at the kennel still because we hadn't gone to get him yet. He went there whenever we were on tour and Pete planned to pick him up tomorrow.

        Pete laughed, saying, "Nope, more important that that. Has to do with us."

        "Is it an anniversary?" I tried, figuring that was my safest bet.

        "Yup. Two months since I snuck up to your bunk," he told me with a smile, not seeming to really care that I hadn't remembered. At that, the memories came flooding back to me as if it were yesterday.

_"Pete? W-what are you doing?" I asked, nervous, confused, and stuttering a little, the last probably a result of the first_.

_"Sshh," he whispered, gently pressing a finger to my lips. "Trust me. Just once."_

        It had been a night I couldn't forget and wasn't sure I ever wanted to. Sure, it's resulted in a hell of a lot of stress, but ultimately it's ended up wonderful. I wouldn't take it back for a moment, not even change anything. I had no doubt this was the path I wanted to be on right now.

        "Has it really been that long? Wow, feels like yesterday," I told him, sounding impressed that we'd made it this far. I mean, two months really isn't that long, but I never dreamed I would have  _any_  relationship of this sort with Pete, let alone one of decent length. I'd never thought we'd work well as a couple before we tried it out - I thought all those fan fics I'd seen were insane ideas - but now that it's a reality, we felt perfect. We felt infinite, as if our relationship was bound by nothing.

        "I want to tell our families before then," Pete blurted out as if he hadn't really wanted to say it, but it came out against his will. He looked nervous afterwards, worried about what I might say.

        "Oh," I said, not sure if I really agreed with that. I was pretty sure my parents would react positively, but Pete's were another story. They were nice, great people - I loved them as if they were my own parents - but they were a little conservative, little being an understatement. "Are you sure about that?"

        He sighed forcefully as if he'd been holding his breath as he awaited my response. "No," he admitted, undoubtedly thinking the same thing I had about his parents. "I'm just tired of hiding us. I wanna hold your hand and walk down the street, kiss you on stage, do  _normal_  couple things."

        "Well, to do that, we'd have to tell the fans and I'm  _very_  against that at the moment. I don't think they like us much at the moment anyway," I told him, keeping my tone cautious, as if I didn't want to set him off. "But I understand where you're coming from. I'm tired of Andy, Joe, and our team being the only ones knowing; I'm just not sure it's the right time."

        "What if we only told our parents, not the fans? I want to tell  _someone_  that I love you. I'd scream it from the rooftops if I could because, Patrick, I want the  _whole world_  to know you're mine and I'm your's," he told me, pleading at this point.

        "Pete, I'm worried about your parents..." I told him, a sad smile curving my lips.

        "Who cares if they react badly?" he asked, standing up and throwing his arms up theatrically as he tended to do when he was worked up about something. "What're they going to do? Cut me out of their life?" Before he spoke again, he knelt down in front of me, taking my hands in his. His voice was hardly a whisper and I had to strain to hear it. "I'd rather have you in my life than them if I had to choose."

        I shook my head, speechless. How was I supposed to respond to that? We haven't been together  _that_  long and he was already ready to do this? Our relationship was moving awfully quickly, but I think that was because we'd been friends for so long before we were a couple. Still, our speed scared me. What if we were going too fast and lost control because of it, crashing and burning?

        "Pete, slow down," I told him, holding my palms up to him in a "stop" motion. "I love you and you mean the absolute world to me, but I don't want to take things too quickly and mess it up." My tone had been soft, but very persuasive as if I were willing him to agree with me, my words a poison that could slip in through his ears and to his brain to change his mind. "Please."

        He shook his head, standing back up and turning away from me, running his hands through his hair. "No, _I'm_  begging  _you_ , not the other way around. I want to tell our parents if no one else," he told me, his back still to me, his hands resting on his temples as if this whole thing were giving him a headache. Pete was the kind of guy that once he set his mind to something, no one could stop him and this was no exception. Talking to him about it was useless when he got like this. I needed to change the topic.  _Now_.

        "Can't we discuss this later?" I asked him, shaking my head a little although he couldn't see it. In fact, it was probably best he hadn't seen it.

        At that, he turned back around to face me again, crossing his arms in front of himself. He stared at me, his gaze hard and unforgiving. "Why are you avoiding it all of a sudden?"

        "I'm not avoiding it; I just think the conversation at the moment isn't-"

        "Isn't what? Rational? Yeah, because I'm always irrational. I've got bipolar disorder, so I'm crazy and all my emotions are unjustified," he said, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. He looked angry, but wounded at the same time as if the person who'd stabbed him had called him a certain three letter word that ends in a G and starts with an F just before puncturing his skin.

        "That's not what I was going to say! Productive is the word I was going to use, and we're still moving in that direction," I told him, raising my voice slightly as I spoke. I didn't want this to turn into a fight, but that's what it seemed to be. We just had to talk about this right before Christmas, didn't we? "But it's slowly becoming irrational, too."

        "How's it irrational, hm?" he asked me, and with the tone he used, I knew I'd have to be careful with my response. If it wasn't perfect, he'd storm right out the door and not come back for a couple hours. With how late it was getting, he might be gone all night, but at this point, I thought some time apart might be good for us. Maybe I  _shouldn't_  be careful with my answer.

        "How's it becoming irrational? You're acting as if I always treat you as if you're helpless simply because you're bipolar. First of all, I don't. Second, that has nothing to do with anything!" I told him, my voice progressively getting louder with each word. By the end I was screaming and he had that same hurt/angry face as earlier.

        I was right about him storming out the door, though. That's exactly what he did; he turned on his heel, grabbed his coat from the rack, and headed right out the door without a word.

_Please don't be gone long, Pete._


	27. Chapter 27

        Pete still hadn't come back. It was nearly 9 the next morning and I hadn't heard from him at all. This disappearance was turning out to be much longer than his others and it worried me like few other things could. I just wanted him to be okay.

        I'll just have to be more careful with my words next time so as to not send him running.

        On the up side, this gave me time to look for a Christmas present for him. Surely I'd be able to find something for him in the entire city of Chicago. Last year I'd gotten him a pair of headphones, but now, as his boyfriend, there was a bit more pressure to get him something nice and I didn't have a clue what to buy. I grabbed my car keys and my wallet and headed to the shopping district to look for a present.

        I tried Radio Shack first, thinking maybe I'd spot some electronic that he'd love, but I had no luck. Nothing had screamed out at me, "Pete Wentz would love me!" and that's what I really needed an item to do.

        My next stop was a book store. Pete wasn't a huge reader, but I thought I might be able to find something he'd like in there. I had no such luck, an outcome that hadn't surprised me.

        Close to ten more stores wentz about like that, nothing seeming worthy of being a gift for Pete. My last stop was a little record shop not too far from my place. It was actually the same place he'd asked me to be his boyfriend and I wondered if he remembered that interaction as clearly as I did. In my mind, it was as if it were yesterday, nearly every word playing back in my head if I tried hard enough.

        I spent nearly an hour in there, browsing the titles before I found an album by some band I'd never heard of before. The title is what caught my eye, though.  _Always In A Cord_  was a stupid pun on love and music that Pete would adore. Whether or not he'd like the music, I had no idea. It had been in the thrash metal section, but the cover didn't fit that genre. It was softer, as if it were a soul or blues record. Either way, it wasn't the music that mattered and that's the only time I'd ever say that.

        I quickly paid for the record and headed back home. As I walked through my front door, I held the plastic bag containing Pete's Christmas present shut and close to my own body. If he had come home while I was gone, I didn't want him seeing what I'd bought.

        The precautions were unnecessary though, and when I realized that, I sighed, disappointed. He'd been gone way too long and I was worried about him.  _Just come home, Pete. I miss you._

        His absence did give me a chance to wrap his gift, though, so that was the one and only advantage to him still being gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

        I was in the kitchen, fixing myself a light lunch when Hemmingway came bounding towards me at full speed, nearly knocking me over despite his small size.

        "Hemmingway? What the...?" I said, my voice full of confusion. As my eyes flicked to the doorway, I trailed off, seeing the owner of this particular dog standing there.

        "Pete."

_Finally_. I rushed over to him and enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug, his arms wrapping around me too, just with not quite as much force. Hemmingway ran around us, jumping and barking excitedly. With my face pressed into his shoulder, my voice was muffled when I spoke again. "You scared the shit out of me, you asshole," I told him, refusing to release him from my grasp.

        "I'm sorry," he told me, and I could tell he really meant it just by the tone of his voice although he was fighting a smile too, probably because of my reaction. Yeah, hugging him like I never would again and calling him an asshole simultaneously was a tad contradictory, I know. "I'm here now though."

        "And if you leave, you're in trouble," I told him, trying to sound threatening, but failing miserably. I held onto him a few moments longer before I finally let go, looking him over. "You smell, go take a shower," I told him, overexaggerating as I held my nose shut with my hand and waved the other around as if to clear the room of the smell.

        He laughed, shaking his head at me but walking off towards the bathroom anyway. Hemmingway immediately rushed me, as if he'd been waiting for Pete to leave before he mauled me. I couldn't help but smile, crouching down and petting him for a good while before washing my hands and turning back to my half-made lunch.

~~~~~~~

        Christmas Day at my house was an event, even if it was just the two of us this year. We wanted to spend it together and that meant we couldn't go to either of our families' Christmases because then we'd have to explain to them that we were together. That wasn't a bomb we wanted to drop on Christmas, we both agreed on that.

        Pete woke me up around 7:30 that morning, repeating my name as if it were a mantra or possibly a satanic chant. "Patrick.....Patrick...Patrick. Patrick. Patrick, Patrick, Patrick, Patrick, Paaatriiiick, Paaaaaaatriiiiiiick," he called from right next to me in bed, getting louder with each time.

        Eventually, I groaned, covering my ears. "Peeeeeeeeeeteee," I mocked, imitating the way he'd said my name the last time.

        That elicited a laugh from him. "C'mon, get up. Its Christmas!" he said excitedly, shaking me as if that would help get me up.

        "Really? Is that what today is? I had  _no_  idea," I responded, sarcasm dripping from my words. I couldn't help but smile, though, and he saw that.

        "Well, quick question: do you prefer to be called Ebeneezer, The Grinch, or Scrooge?" he asked me, keeping his tone serious and face passive as if he honestly wanted to know my preferred alias.

        "Ebeneezer," I told him, rolling over so I was face down in my pillow, in turn muffling my voice.

      "Well, Ebeneezer, this is ghost of Christmas past and I know you normally get up early on Christmas," Pete reasoned, adopting a deeper, comical tone.

        "So what? This year is going to be different," I countered, my words hardly understandable through the pillow. "I want Pete back so we can cuddle. Go away, ghostie."

        "Pete doesn't want to cuddle. Pete wants to get up because it's Christmas," he said, barely containing his giggles. He was like a little kid and god, was it adorable.

        "Stop being cute. That's not playing fair," I protested, knowing that if the adorableness continued, he'd get me out of bed pretty quickly.  _That's not something he tried to do normally_.

        "Pattycakes," he whined, using a voice that was much like a small child's. "Pwease?"

        I groaned, lying there another long moment before sitting up and crawling out of bed.

        "You're getting up!" Pete exclaimed giddily, his voice raising an octave in excitement. He clapped and jumped off the bed, grabbing my hand and dragging me down the stairs to my living room. When I sat down on the couch, I was still half asleep, rubbing my eyes and yawning.

        Pete brought me a wrapped box measuring roughly a foot on each side, planting a kiss on my lips before sitting down where he would have a clear view of me opening it. I let out another yawn before I paid any attention to the box.

        "Should I shake it and guess, or just open it?" I asked with a smirk, knowing for a fact that he'd shake my gift to him before opening it.

        "Just open it," he said, his eyes glued to me and the package sitting in my lap. Pete looked as if he might explode from excitement even though he'd told me yesterday that it wasn't much, just something simple. He just really loved giving gifts and Christmas in general.

        I nodded and began tearing away at the rapping paper, revealing a plain brown box that had once been closed with packing tape, but had been opened and resealed with gift wrapping tape, evidently Pete's handiwork. I peeled that away, opening the box, and revealing what sat inside.

        Pete had gotten me a vinyl of David Bowie's  _Low_ , probably my favorite album of all time. I couldn't wait to play it because everyone knows music sounds better on vinyl and I didn't know this album  _could_  sound any better than it already did.

        "Pete, oh my god, thank you," I said, in shock that he knew how much I loved that record, let alone that he'd get it for me  _on vinyl_.

        He beamed, proud of himself for buying me a gift I loved so much. "You're welcome!" he said, the smile on his face larger than life.

        I set it aside, standing up and grabbing Pete's present from under the  **(A/N: cork)**  tree and handing it to him before returning to my seat. Just as I'd predicted, he shook the package, but it didn't rattle, much to his dismay. He looked confused and curious all at once, staring at the flat, wrapped item.

        "Open it," I told him with a smile, anxious to see his reaction. That's what he did, beginning by flipping it over and tearing where the wrapping paper met.

        " _Always in A Cord_ ," he read aloud, thinking it over a short moment before laughing, a smile not dissimilar to the one he'd had on when I opened his gift to me spreading across his face. "I love it. I haven't even listened to it yet and I know I love it."

        "I'm glad," I told him, a genuine smile curving my lips. He set the record aside and came to sit right by me, his hands resting on my waist.

     He didn't speak until our gazes locked, saying, "Thank you, Patrick." Without waiting for a response, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine for a quick, soft kiss.

        Then came a bark, Hemmingway running into the room. "Don't worry, boy. I didn't forget about you," Pete told his dog, pulling away from me and standing up.

        This was shaping up to be a pretty nice holiday after all.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning I guess? Alcohol, hints of drugs, and something close to smut

        It was New Year's Eve and we were mere hours away from the start of 2009 which meant we were celebrating. Andy, Joe, Pete, and I along with a few of our other friends like Brendon, Jon, Ray, Frank, and Gabe were all gathered at Joe's place. Of course there were others, but those were the ones I was closest to and knew the best.

        Andy was messing with a drunk Brendon on the couch, telling him something that caused him to yell "No fucking way!" across the room, and then occasionally shout that he was right because there were in fact no Way's here.

        Pete, Gabe, and Ray were sitting on the floor doing vodka shots, the three of them looking pretty well wasted. Joe and Frank were watching them, egging them on. They both looked pretty wasted themselves, nearly spilling the drinks in their hands every time they got excited.

        Jon and I were standing in the kitchen and had the perfect view of everything else going on. He kept handing me drinks and I just kept downing them without another thought, the liquor burning on its way down. Each time it seemed to burn a little less and soon I was missing the sharp feeling it had been at first. It had become more of a dull feeling and that annoyed me. The sharpness of the alcohol at first had been what was keeping my interest. Now I was only drinking what he gave me because it seemed like too much work to quit. Maybe the burn would return if I drank enough.

        "Jon?" I asked as he handed me another drink, my voice slurred even to my own ears.  _Oh well. He can understand me._

        "Yeah?"

        "Why am I still drinking?" I asked him, then took another swig from the cup in my hand. I didn't even know what it was at this point, just that it wasn't strong enough. Then I laughed because it was kind of ironic for me to ask him that, and then take another drink without even thinking about it.

        "I don't know man. Why would you stop?" he asked me, his voice a little raspier than usual. I couldn't help but giggle at that too. There was a sweet scent drifting from him that drew me towards him and maybe that's why I stayed, taking cup after cup from his hands.

        I thought about what he'd said and couldn't come up with an answer. Why  _would_  I stop? It's New Year's Eve and I didn't have anything to do tomorrow. Not drinking until I couldn't remember a thing from tonight seemed like the only sensical thing to do so that's what I did. Before I knew it, I'd downed that cup and he handed me another immediately. Jon raided the fridge multiple times, each time coming out munching on another more obscure thing. His stomach seemed like a bottomless pit, much like I seemed to take in more alcohol than seemed possible.

        I had to pee and the bathroom was down the hall. I mumbled something to Jon about being right back, set my drink on the counter, and tried to put my right foot in front of my left, but seemed to miss. I tried again and there it went, hitting the spot on the floor that I'd intended with a loud noise.  _Damn, that hit harder than I'd meant for it to._ My feet felt like lead, but I lifted the left anyway, putting it down a little softer than the right.

        The bathroom seemed miles away and I almost fell down a couple times on my way, but I made it. Actually peeing was a challenge too, the zipper not cooperating with my fingers.  _They're too chubby. Your sausage fingers don't work too well, Patrick._  I frowned at that, the thought making me sad. They were pretty sausage-like, weren't they? I couldn't help but wonder how I played guitar with sausage fingers. Maybe they weren't normally like this. Maybe all the alcohol I'd drank had inflated me like a balloon and they were only like this because I hadn't peed yet.

        Only they were still sausage-like when I'd finished, still round and way too plump. Maybe there's still just too much liquid in me to fully deflate.

        Making it back to the kitchen wasn't easy, but it wasn't as hard as leaving it. I was starting to get used to the floor tilting beneath me, could predict which way it would go next. Occasionally it would still surprise me and I'd slip up, the floor tilting left when I thought it was going to go right. Or something like that. I wasn't sure anymore.

        Somehow I didn't end up back in the kitchen. I was in the living room, but I wasn't sure how. Frank grabbed my arm, giggling, and pulled me over between him and Joe, watching Pete, Gabe, and Ray doing shots. It was entertaining, actually, but they still seemed to feel the burn of the liquid and I couldn't help but feel jealous. I'd grown numb to it a while back, but maybe Jon just hadn't given me anything strong enough to burn. Maybe the vodka shots they were doing would burn still.

        "Hey, hey, I wanna join," I said, trying to sit down on the edge of the circle and struggling. Joe ended up helping me I think. I know I felt someone's hands on my arm as I sat down and they seemed to steady me enough so that I could do it. Before I knew it, someone had handed me a shot glass filled with a clear liquid and I downed it eagerly, the burn returning stronger than ever and I was grateful.

        The burn was keeping me awake as we continued to do shots, the hours ticking by as if they were minutes. At one point, I almost puked, from the alcohol I assume, but I kept it down and continued, downing a few more before Andy decided he was going to take it away, cutting us off. I really wished he hadn't done that because I quickly missed the burn.

        Someone grabbed my hand, leading me off down the hallway again, but this time we stopped at a different doorway. A bedroom was on the other side and before I knew what was happening, I was shoved down onto the bed, the other person climbing on top of me and crashing their lips into mine. Pete, I assumed, owned those lips but I wasn't paying too much attention. They felt good; what difference did it make?

        Pete's hand trailed down my body, stopping between my legs and rubbing me through my jeans and god did it feel good. I was moving my hips too, up against his hand and soon his hand was replaced by his hips and his lips were on my neck and his hands were up beneath my shirt. My pants were a little tighter than they had started out, and I could feel he had the same problem.

        "Oh Pete," I moaned out, my voice quiet and his movement paused a moment, but then continued, his hands trailing lower on my body once again. It hardly even registered that his touch was unfamiliar, the movements different, because I merely shook it off as him being just about as drunk as I was. My pants were being unbuttoned, unzipped, and then slid down to my ankles. Pete reached a hand down into my boxers and began palming my hard member which caused another moan to leave my body. His lips never seemed to leave my neck and I was okay with that until they did when he began moving down my body. He bit the waistband of my boxers and that's when I got a clear view of his face and realized that was  _not_  Pete.

_That_  was Gabe Saporta.

_Oops_.

        That's when I scrambled up the bed, kicking my feet. I think I landed one in his side because he was suddenly doubled over. I fell off the side of the bed in my hurry, the combination of the alcohol and the pants around my ankles making for a disastrous combination. I managed to pull them up again before I headed back out the door and immediately to the bathroom. The bile was rising in my throat and I was  _not_  going to puke on Joe's carpet.

        I was still stumbling and my feet were heavier than they should be, but my panic seemed to propel me forward with less trips and less clinging to the wall. I puked as soon as my head was over the toilet and the substance was mostly liquid from all the alcohol. Brown and watery, it looked exactly like I felt: shitty.

_What have I done?_

        My still sausage-like fingers gripped the edge of the bowl tight enough that they turned white and I thought they might pop. Then maybe the liquor inside of me would burst everywhere and I'd drown in it.

        Before too long I felt as if I wasn't going to puke again so I stood up and flushed the ugly substance down. I was way too sober at this point because I could feel the guilt weighing down on me. I felt heavier than my feet had been when I tried to make it in here last time, just for a different reason. I needed to get something else in me; I needed to distract myself.

        I walked out of the bathroom and headed back to the kitchen, stumbling much less than I had all night. Jon was gone but Brendon and Pete were in there and I couldn't help but wish Pete wasn't there. I didn't want to face him after what I'd just done, at least not until I had more alcohol in me. I simply couldn't meet his eyes right now, let along speak to him.

        "Hey Patrick," Pete greeted me enthusiastically and a pang of guilt hit me as if I'd been stabbed. "It's 11:55. Ready for our first New Year's kiss?" Well, I guess Brendon knew about us now if he didn't before. He probably wouldn't remember though. How many of us  _would_  actually remember this night?

        I grabbed the bottled of vodka and took a couple swigs directly from there before responding. The burn was back and I was relieved, the pain almost feeling like a punishment for what I'd done.

        I had to tell him.

_No, you can't, Patrick._

        But I can't  _not_  tell him.

_But you'll ruin your first New Year's Eve together as a couple._

        I was saved from deciding by a commotion in the living room. Joe was yelling about something, his arms in the air, and stumbling a little. "Hey, could I have everyone's attention? Yes, everyone. Even Jon who's as baked as a fucking cake," he announced with a giggle which caused Jon to direct his attention that way. "Andy, get your ass up here. I have something I want to tell everyone."

        Andy did as he was told, standing up and making his way over to Joe. He looked worried and I was so confused. I think everyone was. Andy was the only sober one in the room and he didn't have a clue what was going on.

        "Andrew John Hurley is my boyfriend," he announced, grabbing his hands and pulling him in for a kiss. Andy's face in that moment was one of shock and then anger, his eyes staying open during the kiss and pushing Joe away after a moment. He looked hurt, staring at Andy as if he'd just betrayed him.

        "You fucking idiot! We didn't agree to tell everyone!" Andy exclaimed, throwing his arms up before storming off down the hallway I'd become all too acquainted with tonight. Joe followed him, doing his best to stay upright.

        Once they'd left, the entire room was silent, in shock, myself included.  _Oh my god. That actually just happened_.

        "Patrick?" came Pete's voice once the room had returned to a low buzz of noise. I took another drink from the bottle still in my hand before turning around and responding. I had a feeling I'd need it.

        "Yeah?"

        "Did you know about them?"

        I shook my head. "Did you?"

        "Nope," he told me, popping the P and giggling a little afterwards. Drunk Pete thought everything was funny. I rolled my eyes before taking another drink, another burning sensation down my throat, and then setting the bottle down on the counter.

        "30 seconds!" Frank shouted, watching a clock of some sort, evidently.A cheer went up around the room. Everyone was ready to welcome in 2009.

        Pete pulled me close in preparation of a New Years kiss and I couldn't help but giggle. My thoughts slowly becoming groggier and groggier, the thought of Gabe fading away.

        "5...4...3..." The entire room was shouting the countdown together and Frank was leading them. Pete and I simply mouthed the numbers to each other and our we leaned in closer with each passing second.

        "2...1..."

        Our lips connected in a sloppy, drunken New Years kiss as we ushered in 2009 together.


	29. Chapter 29

        January 1, 2009, I woke up on Joe's couch, Pete lying halfway on top of me.  _Oh god_. I remembered very little of the night before, only that it had been pretty well insane and full of  _lots_  of alcohol. I glanced around the room, seeing that Frank, Brendon and Gabe were still here also -  _Gabe_. When my eyes passed over him, I couldn't help but remember what we'd done and feel unbelievably guilty. Considering how drunk I was at the time, it was amazing I remembered it at all.

        I shook my head as if to clear my thoughts, working my way out from underneath Pete and stretching. I needed to wake him up so we could get home but my head was pounding and I had a feeling I should be thankful the curtains were closed.

        I leaned back down, shaking Pete in an attempt to bring him to consciousness, but that didn't work, of course. A passed out drunk can't simply be shaken awake.  _Figures_.

        Since I had no idea where to find a bucket, I headed to the kitchen and raided Joe's cabinets for a glass, filling it with cold tap water. This was how they always did it in movies, right? It had to work, then. I took a deep breath, readying myself for the screaming that would probably come out of this oh so brilliant idea of mine. When I did it, I immediately stumbled a few steps backwards, ready for him to spring up, and that's exactly what he did, jumping up and yelling something unintelligible.

        "Oh god, stop yelling," I told him in a whisper, holding my head. I  _definitely_  drank too much last night.

        "Dude, what was that for?" he asked, his tone down just below a normal volume. His yelling was probably hurting his head too. Fortunately enough though, it did not wake the other three men in the room. I so did not want to face Gabe right now and I luckily didn't have to because he stayed passed out, draped over the coffee table that had somehow ended up in the corner.

        "I needed to wake you up," I told him sheepishly, a smile of the same nature curving my lips. He had a right to be a little angry though. His black hair was dripping wet, plastered to his forehead, and the eyeliner he'd had on was now running down his cheeks.  _Should've bought the waterproof kind, Pete_.

        He just shook his head which caused water droplets to fly everywhere. One hit the lens of my glasses and it sat there in the corner of my vision, like a small spot that was out of focus in a photograph for some reason.

        "C'mon, let's go home," I told him, grabbing his arm and leading him towards Joe's front door. He didn't protest, just followed. In all honesty, neither of us should probably be driving. We both still had alcohol in our system if I had to guess, but I decided I would drive anyway.

        When I opened the door, the light burned my eyes and I shielded myself from it as if I were a vampire. I glanced back at Pete and saw he was doing something very similar as we made our way to the car. How awful would it be if some paparazzi stumbled upon us and got a photo of  _this_.

        We eventually made it to my car and the tinted windows helped a little, but not a lot. I kept a pair of sunglasses in the center console thankfully, and slipped those on so I could see to drive.

~~~~~~~

        Most of that day was spent feeling a little sick and a lot hungover. Pete and I laid in bed and watched a couple movies with the sound almost all the way down, both of us drifting in and out of sleep all day. I was curled up against him, the blankets pulled up over us and his arm wrapped around me to hold me close.

        Each time I fell asleep though, I dreamed not of Pete, but of Gabe and the guilt was eating away at me. I knew I should tell Pete - he had a right to know - but I almost thought it'd be better not to. Maybe Gabe and I could keep this our little secret and forget about it entirely. I'd love to put it behind us because Gabe is a good friend of mine and I couldn't imagine living without Pete.

        The next time Pete drifted off to sleep, I set my phone to silent and shot a text to Gabe.

        > _Hey_ ,  _we_   _need_   _to_   _talk_.

        I set my phone down on my chest and half-heartedly watched the movie as I waited for a reply. It was some movie about a writer with a green scarf, but I wasn't getting too much of it because 1) I'd already slept through a good portion of it and 2) the sound was down so low it was barely audible. Before long, it vibrated on my chest, letting me know I had a text and saving me from the chick flick.

_ >Gay-be: Yeah, I was kinda hoping you wouldn't remember all that actually._

_ >I was hoping I wouldn't remember it too_

_ >Gay-be: So what do you say we just forget about it? Pretend we /don't/ remember?_

        When I read that, it was as if a weight was lifted from my chest. We were on the same page and that had just made things a million times easier.

        > _Sounds great. This convo went a lot smoother than I thought it would._

_ >Gay-be: Same here. I'll ttyl_

        I couldn't shake the feeling that that had gone way  _too_  smoothly, but that was probably just me being paranoid so I shook it off.

        Before long, Pete woke back up and groaned, turning himself over and burying his face in his pillow like he didn't want to face the reality that he was awake. I sympathized with him. Being awake didn't sound like a real great idea to me either.

        "Pete?" I asked, amusement evident in my voice. I felt guilty about not telling him, but I didn't want to hurt him and if he found out, he'd be hurt. Hurting Pete was really the last thing I wanted to do.

        "Yeah?" he asked, his voice extremely muffled and distorted due to the pillow his face was planted in.

        "Are you okay?"

        "My head hurts."

        At that, I laughed because mine did too and had all day. We'd both taken Tylenol when we got home, but that had obviously worn off by now because mine was pounding once again too. "I feel you, babe," I told him, shaking my head slightly at him as if in amazement.

        He just groaned again, still face down and that's when I decided to crawl out of bed and to the bathroom in search of more Tylenol for both of us. His headache was getting the best of him and I wasn't sure I could take mine much longer either. This hangover was awful enough that I almost decided that I maybe needed to run dry.


	30. Chapter 30

        It had been four months since that wild New Years Eve party and Pete still hadn't found out about what Gabe and I did that night. The guilt was eating me alive from the inside out and I felt as though I actually  _needed_  to tell him. But, at the same time, I didn't because I knew it would hurt him and that was the last thing I wanted.

        I think he might've begun to suspect something though, because I can't seem to act normal whenever Gabe or Cobra Starship is brought up. Lately, they seemed to come up a lot because they were sending Pete demos of the material they'd been working on and he talked about them constantly, not to mention the fact that today we started a tour with them.

        Pete, Andy, Joe, and I had flown out to Arizona yesterday where we met the rest of the team and the four other bands that were touring with us. We were calling it the Believers Never Die Tour Part Deux and Hey Monday was the first opener, then Metro Station, All Time Low, and right before us, of course, was Cobra Starship.

        So far, Gabe and I had successfully avoided each other, but I knew that wouldn't last much longer with the first show of the tour tonight. Plus, he was a good friend of both Pete and I's, so my  _not_  wanting to spend time with him would make Pete even more suspicious than he already was. And through all this, all I could think was that I didn't want to hurt Pete.

        "Ready for tonight?" Joe asked. We were on our bus, Pete and I on the couch with his arm around me, and Andy and Joe on the bean bag on the floor because they both wanted it, neither wanted to give it up to the other, and they didn't mind sitting practically on top of each other. I had my laptop on my lap and Pete and I were half focused on working on a new song. We weren't really sure what we were going to do with it yet, but we never really stopped working on new material.

        "Yeah, I'm psyched to start this tour, especially because Cobra's on it with us," Pete said, overly casually dropping that band in there and that's how I knew it was on purpose. He was trying to get me to fess up to whatever I was holding back, I knew it, and I wanted to tel him - I really did - but god did I not want to hurt him. "What about you, Patrick?" he continued after a moment's pause, clicking something on the screen to change the guitar part a bit. He was still doing his best to sound disinterested, but he'd never been much of an actor.

        "Yeah, psyched," I agreed shortly, not wanting to agree with him on the specifics of what he'd said for fear of backing myself into a corner I coulnd't get out of. I was to a point where I over thought everything I said around Pete, and I didn't like that one bit, but it was either that or tell him.

        "Gabe is a real great guy, don't you think, Andy?" Pete asked, keeping his faux passive tone that no one believed. He clicked something else, messing with the drums and I knew he wasn't paying a bit of attention to what he was doing because that had just entirely fucked up the song.

        "Um, yeah. I really get along with him," he tentatively agreed, knowing Pete was hinting at something to me and not really wanting to get involved.

        "So, have you guys eaten yet? I'm starving," I spoke up suddenly, louder than necessary, and obviously trying to change the subject. I was awful under pressure, I was sure of that.

        "Patrick, when's the last time we hung out with Gabe? New Year's Eve? I think we should invite him over here to hang out after the show tonight," he continued, completely ignoring my comment and clicking yet another part of the song without realizing what he was doing. His clicks were getting more and more violet each time, like he was angry and trying not to show it, but direct it somewhere else.

        "Yeah, I think we should eat before we head over to the venue," Joe agreed with me, taking my side and trying to pull Pete off of whatever he was about to launch into.

        "I think I'll talk to Gabe tonight and see what he says to that," he said, still on about that. Joe, Andy, and I shared a nervous glance, not sure what was about to happen. His arm around me was tightening, his fingers gripping my shoulder a little too tightly for comfort. He clicked on something else on the screen, changing a lyric.

        "What do we even have to eat in here?" Joe asked rhetorically as he stood up from the bean bag chair, causing Andy to fall over slightly. There was a mini fridge in our kitchenette on the bus and that's where he headed, opening it and pretending to look for something.

        "Pete, that hurts-" I said as his hand tightened further on my shoulder, cut off when he began speaking once more.

        "Or maybe I should just call him now," he suggested, raising his voice and hitting the trackpad on the laptop with a force that I thought just might break it. At this point, he was scaring me and I was worried about him as well as what he might do.

        Luckily, my phone buzzed in that exact moment, all four of our gazes locking onto the small device sitting next to me on the couch. I'm pretty sure that one little  _ding_  saved us from a Pete explosion because he seemed to calm down immediately, his grip on my shoulder loosening considerably so I reached over and grabbed it. Opening the text, I saw that it was from our tour manager, saying we needed to get inside to the venue now because they wanted to do soundcheck early. It hadn't been scheduled for another 30 minutes, but I guess things don't always go as planned.


	31. Chapter 31

        "Alright guys, we're good. Thanks!" called the sound guy as we finished up sound check, heading off stage and going to put our instruments up. To say I was nervous or on edge would be an understatement. My hands were shaking still from Pete's almost explosion earlier, making playing guitar very difficult. I had to tell him, I just did, even if it hurt him. The guilt was pressing down on me as if it weighed a thousand pounds, and I didn't know how much longer I could take it.

        However Pete reacted, whatever he did to me, I deserved it. I regretted it with all my heart, but that doesn't change the fact that I did it, but Pete doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve the hurt I was going to cause him, not one bit. He deserved so, so much better than me and my shitty, drunk decisions.

        As I put my guitar up, I heard a familiar laugh float around the corner, the owner of the laugh having been on my mind all too often lately for all the wrong reasons.

_Gabe_.

       I could tell Pete heard it too, because his eyes seemed to narrow slightly, evidently the thoughts about why I'd been acting strange about Gabe floating through his head.

        Luckily, Joe spoke up and drowned it all out for a moment, saying, "I can't wait for tonight. This tour is going to be awesome." I was grateful for the sound of his voice distracting me from the other that seemed to infiltrate my ears and slither around in my head like a snake, wrapping itself around my every thought like a constrictor. God did I hate snakes. Especially the ones that threatened to destroy my relationship with the man I loved.

        "Definitely. I'm  _psyched_ ," Pete agreed, a hint of malice to his tone. He put emphasis on the last word, nearly spitting it out in a poorly suppressed anger. I worried about him. His every word seemed passive aggressive at this point, and I was afraid telling him would only do more harm. But at least then the possibilities, the scenarios wouldn't be running rampant through his head. Once he found out what actually happened, maybe he could start to work past it, maybe even forgive me eventually although I knew I didn't deserve it.

        That's when just the guy I  _didn't_  want to see rounded the corner, coming into sight. I had my back to him, was facing Joe, and I knew Gabe was there because Joe paled, his eyes going wide. He knew that whatever was wrong between Pete and I had to do with Gabe. He and Andy didn't want to stick around to see it, Joe grabbing his boyfriend's hand and pulling him in the direction of the dressing rooms. Jack had been walking with Gabe, and he soon took off too, hurrying off when he realized this was going to be a tense interaction.

       He just stood there a moment after I'd turned around and our gazes had locked, seemingly stuck in place. Or maybe it was the death glare Pete was sending him that cemented him to his spot. I couldn't imagine Gabe knew why Pete was glaring at him though, because Joe, Andy, and the majority of our crew were the only people who knew Pete and I were together, and they wouldn't have told him. Gabe didn't even know half the problem he'd help to cause.

        "Hey Pete, Patrick," he said, his feet seemingly glued to that spot in the floor. His voice was stiff, emotionless, as if he were trying a bit too hard to act casual.

        "Hey Gabe," Pete said, his tone way too friendly for the expression clouding his features.

        "How're you guys?" he asked after a moment of clear hesitation, unsure of whether or not it would be suspicious if he came up with a bullshit excuse to get out of the conversation. Obviously he decided that yes, it would be suspicious because he spoke, beginning to walk towards us so we weren't yelling across the room anymore.

        "Good, we're good," Pete answered quickly, before I could even open my mouth and  _begin_  to croak out a response. "What about you? We haven't actually seen you in person since New Year's Eve."

        At the mention of that night, he visibly squirmed, as did I, but Pete's eyes weren't on me at the time; they were glued to Gabe, reading his every movement, every expression. His eyes narrowed when he saw Gabe was uncomfortable, as if he thought he were onto something like a detective on a case. He seemed to think he was about to solve it, and I almost hoped he was right because that would save us from keeping the secret, but that would also mean hurting him. Again, I never wanted to do that.

        "Pretty good. Not much has changed, really," Gabe finally told us after a moment, trying to ignore Pete's suspicious gaze. He was probably getting the idea that Pete and I were together, or we had at least been flirting back and forth enough to feel territorial over each other. I just hoped Gabe would realize enough that he'd know it would be catastrophic to tell Pete about what happened.

        I'm pretty sure this was the most tense situation I'd ever been in. Every muscle on my body felt tightened, like clenching my entire being would somehow stop this from happening. Gabe was fidgeting more than I'd ever seen someone fidget, seemingly unable to control his motions. But Pete was the worst; he seemed entirely at ease, a forced casual, minus the tightened expression clouding his features. It felt like the calm before the storm, like he could explode at any moment, the seemingly lost anger from earlier on the bus reappearing and adding itself to the current, barely suppressed anger. That hadn't happened yet, but it felt like a waiting game until it did, and it may have been the scariest waiting game of my entire life.

        "What about you guys? Anything new?" Gabe continued when Pete took a moment to respond, scratching the back of his neck. I didn't think he realized just where Pete was in that moment, didn't realize that his mind was nearly lost in a fit, but that seemed to pull him out of it at least partially because he responded.

        "Nope, nothing new that's worth mentioning since New Year's," he told him, reaching over my direction and grabbing my hand, holding it in the way that couples did. We certainly weren't a stranger to it, but he was gripping my fingers so tightly that it nearly elicited a groan of pain from me. If Gabe hadn't realized Pete and I were together by now, I was sure that would've done it, and it seemed like Pete was trying to mark his territory, as if he were saying, "Patrick's mine, and has been since before New Year's, so whatever you two did that night, affects me too."

        I could see Gabe's eyes widen a little when he saw, I think finally realizing the implications of what we'd done that night. The guilt seemed to weigh a little heavier on his shoulders, as if he saw that we'd possibly destroyed Pete and I's relationship with just a couple minutes of actions.

        "Well that's neat," he started, obviously not sure what to say now. His words seemed simply like placeholders, like they were only uttered in order to silence the stillness currently enveloping us in its icy embrace. A few moments passed before he spoke again, prying the nonexistent and chilly arms of quiet from around us. "I'm psyched to play tonight, though. This show should be awesome," he said, the words coming out as more of a forced happy than as if he were actually pumped to play.

        "Yeah, the fans outside look like they'll be a lot of fun to play for," I finally spoke up when Pete didn't, seeming too preoccupied with glaring at Gabe. I just wished he'd break down and straight out ask me what was going on because then he wouldn't constantly be lost in his own little world thinking about possibilities, those scenarios driving him slowly insane.

        "Yeah, yeah. Definitely," Gabe agreed with a slow nod, the entire action seemingly absentminded. I could tell he wanted to ask about Pete and I, wanted confirmation that what we'd done really had been  _that_  much of a fuck up. Well, I imagine he'd prefer denial, but it was pretty obvious that was not what would come if and when he asked.

        "So," he started, seemingly like he was still mulling over whether or not he should say what he was about to. Evidently, he decided to just blurt it out. "How long have you two been together? I didn't realize you were..." The farther he got into the second sentence, the quieter he got, probably telling himself that it was not okay to say aloud. It really shouldn't have come as such a surprise to him that Pete wasn't straight; I mean, I was pretty sure the two had kissed at some point, and Pete hadn't been exactly private about his "gay above the waist" stance. 

    "Beginning of November," Pete told him, seeming to nearly spit the words out almost triumphantly, as if he were trying to tell Gabe that we were in trouble for whatever it was that happened New Year's Eve because yes, Pete and I were together then.

        "Wow, congrats you two. That's awesome," he said, and he seemed to really mean it despite how uncomfortable he seemed to be as the words left  his mouth. The guilt seemed to hit him all over again in that moment, realizing that he'd been the "mistress," he'd been the one I'd cheated on Pete with, even if I didn't even fully realize what I'd done at the time.

        That's when I started glancing around, looking for an out, any out of this conversation because it was going no where good. On the stage, I could see they'd already hung the curtain, meaning they were either going to start letting the fans in any minute, or they were already starting to file in. That was usually when everyone who wasn't on next headed to their dressing rooms. Hey Monday should be headed over here any minute because they were the first act. 

        "Thanks, we're really happy," Pete replied, forcing a smile directed a Gabe before glancing down at me, question in his eyes. I felt bad - I truly did - and that look only reinforced the feeling. 

          As if on cue, around the corner came Cassadee and Mike, talking and laughing loudly, the first two of their band to arrive. When they saw us and the tense looks on our faces, they stopped, sharing a glance that said  _Oh shit. What did we just walk into?_

        Gabe took the situation and ran with it, using it as the obvious out it was. "Well, I'm going to head to my dressing room. I'll talk to you guys later," he said, trying to make it sound like the conversation had been at least somewhat pleasant. In a split second, he was gone, down the hall that lead to the dressing rooms before we could even say goodbye. 


	32. Chapter 32

        I was with Joe in his and Andy's dressing room, and Andy was in Pete and I's with my boyfriend. Basically, Andy and I had just switched for a while because Pete and I both needed someone to talk to about each other.

        It felt like we were falling apart again, all because I'd been a drunken idiot, and that scared me like few other things. I didn't know what I'd do if I lost Pete, but I wasn't sure I deserved him at this point. He deserved better, that much was clear. Better as in someone who wouldn't hallucinate and think Gabe Saporta was him.

        "What  _did_  you even do?" Joe asked me after a bit of silence. We had walked in, sat down in chairs opposite each other, and remained in silent thought until just then. He obviously didn't want to beat around the bush, just get to it, and maybe that was for the best. It was less likely that I wouldn't give him a straight answer, I guess.

        "I think  _who_  did I do would be a more appropriate question," I admitted with a sick laugh, as if the thought didn't actually physically disgust me. Just saying it aloud made me want to vomit in hopes of the 'evil' leaving my body in the convulsion.

        When I glanced up to gauge Joe's reaction, his eyes were wide in horror, both amazed and disgusted that I would do such a thing.  _Me too, Joe. Me too._

        "It was New Year's Eve and I was well beyond drunk. I honestly thought it was Pete when he pushed me down and as soon as I realized it wasn't, I shoved him off of me, but too much had already happened," I told him, the words coming out too quickly and too messy. I could feel myself growing hysterical very fast and I wasn't a fan of the feeling, tears welling in my eyes. "H-his hands were - they were on me and I've felt so dirty e-ever since. I-it's like I-I can't g-get c-c-clean."

        Then the tears came pouring down and Joe was kneeling in front of me, his arms wrapped around my form as my body shook, the sobs coming all too quickly. I hadn't expected to cry - I really hadn't - but I couldn't seem to help myself, regret flooding me in a crushing wave. I had hurt Gabe, I had hurt myself, and, worst of all, I had hurt Pete, the man I love, and it was all because Jon had kept handing me drinks and I had kept downing them.

        "Who was he?" Joe asked after my sobs had slowed to the point where he knew I could talk again. God, did I not want to say his name, didn't want to even think about it, let alone talk about it. This was tearing me up more than it probably should have, and I was ashamed of myself for my reaction, but more so of the fact that I'd ever done it in the first place.

        I shook my head, not wanting to say his name aloud, and kept my head down, pointed at the ground. My elbows were on my knees and my hands held my head between them, gaze trained downward in shame. This was probably the single biggest mistake I'd ever made.

        "Patrick, who was it?" Joe asked, more force to his words this time. He wasn't going to let me not tell him, that wasn't an option, and his tone communicated that much to me.

        "Gabe," I whispered without looking up, the words barely audible as they left my mouth. His name felt dirty in my mouth and I thought I could feel bile rising in my throat, but that was probably just in my head. This isn't going to actually make me physically sick because that's a crazy idea.

        "I can't hear you," he told me, returning to a soft tone, gentle. I thought I was sweating now, but that was crazy too. I wouldn't have an actual, physical reaction to something like this, to remembering events, but the sour taste in my throat seemed to grow stronger and I couldn't ignore it much longer.

        "Gabe Saporta," I told him again, this time my tone just below a normal volume, but as soon as the name left my mouth, the bile rose in my throat and it didn't seem quite so imaginary anymore. I ran to the trash can, kneeling in front of it before I vomited all over a couple of beer bottles and Kleenexes. I really was a truly disgusting human being, wasn't I? My entire being recognized that, and I wished I could've thrown up all my mistakes along with everything in my stomach.

        "Patrick, are you okay?" Joe asked, his tone panicked as he stood up, unsure of whether or not to come closer to me. He was concerned about me, didn't even seem disgusted that I'd cheated on Pete and I didn't know why.

        I nodded, lifting my head from the can and sitting on the floor by it a moment. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I told him, the statement not even believable to my own ears. Nothing about this situation was fine, that much was obvious. And then it hit me and I seemed to break, shaking my head as tears began falling. "No, I'm not okay."

        Joe immediately came over to me, picked me up, and set me down in the chair so I was basically lying down, my head and legs over the arm rests. He stayed silent while I cried it out and I was grateful. If I had tried to talk in that moment, I would've only cried harder.

        But soon enough, I began speaking, volunteering information without a prompt from Joe at all. He hadn't spoken since he'd asked if I was okay and that worked, he just sat there and listened. Sometimes it was nice to have someone who just  _listened_  and did nothing more.

        "Pete and I were doing so well. We were so happy, but then there was that New Year's Eve party at your house and we all got wasted, only I was wasted enough, or maybe I was on something else, I don't know, but I was wasted enough that I didn't realize Gabe wasn't Pete until my pants were around my ankles and his hand was in my boxers. I legitimately thought he was Pete until the moment he began kissing down my body, and that was when I kicked him off the bed," I started, finally telling someone the full story. That was the first time I'd spoken about it and it felt good to say, to let go of it almost. I was afraid speaking it would make it seem all too real, but it had only seemed to take some of the weight off my shoulders.  _Some_.

        I continued, hoping the more I spoke, the more weight that would be taken off. "And I never wanted to hurt Pete but that's what I've done because I can't act normal anytime Gabe or Cobra Starship is brought up. And he talks about them all the time because they've been sending him a shitload of demos and now we're on tour with them so I can't escape it," I told Joe, rambling half coherently now. "But before New Year's, we'd been doing so well together, we were healthy, we were good, but then I did that and I think how great we were before only makes this whole thing worse because I ruined it for the both of us. I had to go and fuck it up.

        "We were even good for a few days after, before he started figuring things out, and we only seemed to stop deteriorating once since then, for one day when we both silently agreed to completely forget about all of it. Valentine's Day we felt back to normal, and he took me out to an early dinner that night, which made no sense at first," I told him, smiling ever so slightly at the memory, "But afterwards, he showed me tickets to a show in the same venue where we first played on stage together. I don't even remember what bands were playing because that wasn't the important part, but we seemed happy together again like we were before New Years."

        I glanced over at Joe and he was smiling as I spoke, listening intently. I was glad to be reciting a happy memory now, rather than talking about our deterioration. "No one even recognized us the whole night. We could've been anyone, and it was perfect in every way. Pete and I stood at the back and talked through the whole thing, hardly paying any attention to the bands on stage. They were shit anyway, like most the bands that play there, but I was happy just spending time with him like we weren't falling apart."

        Then a knock sounded on the door, cutting off my monologue, and Andy's voice came from the other side, identifying himself before Joe told him he could come in. If he saw my red rimmed eyes and tear stained face, he chose to ignore it because I didn't get a pity glance and I was grateful for it.

        "Hey Patrick, Pete's not in there if you want to go ahead and get ready for the show tonight," he offered, and I was appreciative of the opportunity. Avoiding Pete really didn't sound like a bad idea at the moment.


	33. Chapter 33

        If Pete wasn't in our dressing room like Andy had said, now was my chance to get ready for the show tonight and I was going to take it. Twisting the doorknob, I pushed the door open only to reveal a half naked Pete getting ready.

        " _Shit_ ," we muttered at the same time.

        I felt a hand on my back push me into the room and I stumbled forward, the door slamming behind me.

        "You're not coming out until it's showtime or you've worked it out," came Joe's voice from the other side of the door, earning an eye roll from Pete and a sigh from myself. I didn't have a good feeling about this. Pete was probably going to find out what I did in the next few moments and I would have to watch the hurt wash into his eyes like a tidal wave crashing down onto him. It would destroy him and myself, as well as our relationship.

        I didn't understand how Andy and Joe thought we could solve this in a couple hours, either. I had  _cheated_  on Pete and after he found out, there would be nothing I could say that made it better. This was going to take longer than we had at the moment to fix.

        Pete stood up, making his way over to the door and attempting to open it. Evidently they'd somehow locked it from their side because the door didn't budge. How they did it, I didn't know. Frustrated, he gave up after a bit and went back to where he'd been sitting before.

        "Well, this is fun," I said, breaking the silence that had engulfed us.

        "I get the feeling we have two very different definitions of 'fun,'" he told me, shooting me an almost angry look, one that said he was only tolerating my presence.  _That_  hurt because he was still my boyfriend after all, but I probably deserved it. He had every right to hate me.

        "Maybe so," I sighed, moving so I was sitting in the chair across from him, staring down at my hands. Joe knew what I'd done and was probably telling Andy in this very moment. That meant Pete was the only one who didn't know what a douche bag I am when he had the most right out of anybody to know.

        "So," Pete started, glancing around the room. He was going to ask, going to bring it up, I could feel it. My heart rate was rising steadily the longer he paused, the unsaid question floating in the air around us. "Gabe. What's up with him?"

        Honestly, I felt like that was an odd way to ask the question. It was like he wanted all of this to be Gabe's fault instead of mine, like he hoped against all odds that he could be mad at Gabe and treat me like a poor little victim. I wished that was the case, really.

        "What do you mean?" I asked him, wanting to avoid it, to dance around the topic for as along as possible. It wouldn't be the first time we'd danced together, not even in this sense, but I had an awful feeling it could be the last and that scared me like few other things.  _You're going to lose Pete because you were a douche bag and you don't deserve him._

      He shot me a look that said  _Really? Really?! You know exactly what I'm talking about_  and shook his head as if disgusted. "Between you and Gabe...things seemed a little, I don't know, tense maybe," he said, executing his best attempt at a casual tone which, at the moment, only served to convince me he knew exactly what had happened somewhere in the back of his mind.

        "Uh, yeah, maybe a little tense," I agreed, trying to make it sound like it was less than it was. He knew, though; he knew and that was the worst part of the entire situation. Pete just didn't want to admit it to himself, couldn't until he actually heard me tell him he was right, utter the words that neither of us wanted to hear me say.

      "Did something happen between you two?" he asked me and I could tell he hardly spit the words out. He wanted to know, but he really didn't at the same time. Not knowing would kill him, but knowing would hurt him like few other things.

        I sighed, hesitating a slight moment before nodding, my eyes locked on the ground. I could look up and meet his gaze right now, just couldn't. The knowing in his eyes would kill me, that I was pretty sure of.

        He sighed when he saw my nod, the action seeming to break him because his breath caught a moment in his throat. "Did you two get in a fight?" he asked me like he wanted to prolong hearing the truth. I was, in a way, thankful because I wanted to prolong having to admit it to him.

        I shook my head instead of responding verbally. I mean, I guess my kicking him off of me was kind of a fight, but that isn't why things were tense between us. Things were tense because he'd given me a hand job and I had a boyfriend.  _Have_. He hasn't left me yet.

        "What happened?"

        The words barely seemed to leave his mouth before he choked out a sob, a tear falling from his face and to the ground. I hated to see him like that, couldn't describe how much I hated it, and it was worse because I'd caused it. I'd caused the man I love more pain with one action than he deserved to go through his entire life. He knew what I was soon going to tell him and that was the worst part of all of this.

        "Well, that's a long story," I told him, my voice coming out more even than I thought it would. How I did it, I didn't know.

        When he responded, the shakiness in his voice made up for the lack of movement in mine, his voice cracking halfway through. "I think we've got plenty of time." He had a point, but god did I not want that to be true.

        "Well, uh, it all happened on New Year's Eve," I started, finally looking up to watch his face. He had guessed that much almost immediately after he realized something was up, already knew it, but hearing me start to tell the story aloud was an entirely different thing and his face changed for the worse, his features seeming to fall.

        " _What_  happened, though?"

        "Well, Jon and I were in the kitchen for a fair portion of the night and we were drinking like everybody else, but I'm pretty sure that was the most drunk I'd ever been. I'm actually surprised I remember what happened well enough to be relaying the information right now," I told him, forcing out a laugh that wasn't returned.

        "Anyway, after that, I went out to go do shots with you guys and when we were finished with those, Gabe pulled me away. I thought he was you, I really did. I could've sworn I saw your face instead of his," I told him, my voice cracking at this point. I knew I wasn't going to be able to make it through recalling the events without getting emotional. "He pulled me off to one of the bedrooms."

        As the last word left my lips, he stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in, throwing his hands out in a motion I thought meant stop, gesturing for me to shut up because he couldn't bear to hear more. He wouldn't look at me, wouldn't even face my direction as he reached up, running a hand through his hair and leaving it there, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. I could hear the sobs wracking his body, could see his shoulders shake and seeing him like that hurt like few other things ever could.

        "Pete, we didn't sleep together-" I started again before he cut me off with another gesture not dissimilar to the first one. He just wasn't facing me this time, having to move his hand behind his back for me to see what he was doing. That's when I decided staying silent was my best bet. 

        We didn't speak again that night, not even on stage. He wouldn't even look at me as we got ready to play, wouldn't show me his tear-stained face and red-rimmed eyes. Maybe that was for the best; I didn't know. All I knew was that I had irreparably damaged the man I love and I regretted it like nothing else I'd ever done.


	34. Chapter 34

        After the show that night, Pete disappeared. None of us saw him after he put up his equipment or in the dressing rooms afterwards. It was like he had vanished into thin air and I couldn't help but worry about where he'd gone. His history when bad things happened only caused me to panic more.

        I'd caused him to run off, practically chased him off, and the guilt weighed me down as if I had an anchor chained to my ankle that I had to drag with me everywhere I went. My only hope at this point was that he was safe, that he hadn't gone and gotten himself into a dangerous situation because he'd been stupid. I didn't think he'd ever come back to me, be my boyfriend again, but his safety was more important to me than our relationship.

        "When's the bus taking off for Vegas?" I heard Joe ask, the question directed more at the space around him than any person in particular. We were still backstage, gathering all of our stuff before heading back onto the bus for the night. I hoped Pete would show up soon, but I had an awful feeling in my gut that he wouldn't.

        "Not until morning. I think around 7 or so," someone replied, but I wasn't sure who. It was voice that I knew was familiar, but I couldn't quite identify.

        It was another half an hour or so before we left the venue, a few fans waiting outside for us. There weren't many, 10 at most, and they all looked to be teenage girls. We stopped to sign a few things, chat for a bit because it was hard not to when I knew they had waited outside for us.

        One of them, a tall brunette whose name I didn't quite catch, asked me a question that made me wonder. "Hey, Patrick, are you okay? You seem a little...out of it," she'd said, and I could tell those last three words weren't exactly what she'd wanted to say, but she didn't want to cross a line, either.

        If a fan who'd never met me could tell something was wrong, it must've been pretty obvious. I deserved the weight hanging on my shoulders, but I didn't want to worry the fans. I wondered if the guilt hung on my features like cobwebs, aging me as if I'd been stuck motionless in an attic for years and glaring out at anyone who dared glance my way to let them know what I'd done, that I was a cheater. Maybe I deserved a scarlet letter all my own, to let the world know how much I'd hurt the man I loved, or maybe the guilt on my features was just as obvious as a large red A.

        Another one asked Joe where Pete was and I heard him make up some lie about how he was on the phone with his mom. Saying he'd run off would've been an awful idea, would've caused a panic  **(a/n: at the disco)**  and that was the last thing we needed right now.

        As I climbed the stairs to the bus after talking with the fans, I couldn't help but hope I would find Pete sitting on the couch or lying in his bunk despite the fact that I knew he wouldn't be. I couldn't describe how worried I was about him.

        Joe and Andy were talking, probably discussing going to bed pretty soon as I sprawled myself across the couch, exhausted not only from playing a show, but from worrying. Stressing myself out really was a taxing activity and I realized it in that moment, but I couldn't stop. Maybe I should try calling him although I doubt he'd answer.

        "Hey Patrick," Joe started, standing with Andy in the doorway to the bunks and holding his hand. "We're headed to bed. Don't stay up all night worrying about Pete. He'll find his way back. Goodnight." He seemed to sigh the words out rather than speak them, knowing I would anyway but feeling obligated to tell me not to.

        "Can't promise anything," I shot back. Before speaking again, I lowered my voice so I was the only one who could hear it. "Can't even promise to stay faithful, evidently." That thought pushed me over an edge I didn't quite realize I was near, my voice cracking on the last word and a tear falling silently in the next moment. I guess Andy and Joe had left in just the right moment. God, I'm a mess, a toxic mess that only seems to destroy whatever lies in my path, my relationship with Pete included.

        I was worried about him still. We had no idea where he was and that was probably the worst part. He could be doing absolutely anything, could be reverting to old destructive habits again and no one was there to stop him. I still wanted to call him, to leave a voice mail because I knew he wouldn't pick up.

        Why shouldn't I do that? Why shouldn't I call him and leave a voice mail practically begging him to return to the band, if not to me? I saw no logical reason as to why it would be an inherently bad idea and fished my phone out of my pocket. The black screen seemed to stare back at me, daring me to do it. I would look desperate if I did, but, really, I  _am_  desperate and that wasn't a pretty realization to come to.

        I hit the button to light up the screen, deciding that yes, I wanted to do this.

_I'm going to call him._

        Navigating to the contacts, I found his name under Petah.

_I'm going to call him._

        The call button taunted me, begging me to press it.

_I'm going to call him._

        And then I did.

_I'm calling him._

        The phone rang a couple times before his voice mail message played. "Hey, you've reached Pete. I probably don't want to talk to you right now if I'm not answering, so just leave me a message," the recording said, and then the familiar beep sounded. I missed his voice already and just the recording seemed to hurt.

        I'd still held out a little hope that he would answer, pick up the phone and everything would magically be OK between us, but he didn't and now I was faced with the task of leaving a recording that somehow said what I was feeling and how much I want him to come back, and how damn  _sorry_  I am.

        But I didn't do that, couldn't do that, so I hung up and the tears fell a moment later. Silently, they streamed down my cheeks until I fell asleep there on the couch.

~~~~~~~~

        The next morning I woke to Joe gently shaking me awake. I could still feel the tear stains on my cheeks and wondered if they were visible, my head aching as if I was hungover when it was really just from crying out all the liquid in my body.

        "Hey Patrick, bud, you okay?" he asked, keeping his tone low. I wondered what time it was and if Andy was up yet, or if he just kept his voice quiet because it felt like the appropriate thing to do. Either way, my headache appreciated it.

        In response to his question, I just shook my head. I hated saying that, but no, I was not okay. Pete disappearing entirely wasn't a dream as much as I wished it had been, and he was still gone. For as long as his wherabouts were unknown, I probably wouldn't be okay.

        "Why don't you move back to your bunk? The bus is going to start for Vegas in about 10 minutes," he told me and my first thought was of Pete and how I wondered whether or not he'd find us again.

        "But Pete- he's not back yet," I protested, furrowing my brows in concern. We  _have_  to wait for him.

        Joe just smiled, shaking his head a little. "He can find us. He knows the tour schedule or can find it online if he forgets."

        I hesitated a moment, but he was right. We didn't play tonight and he'd have all of today and tomorrow morning to find us again. Surely he would; he wouldn't dare let the fans down.

        Nodding, I stood up and made my way back to the bunks area, Andy exiting the same time I was entering. He shot me a look of pity, and I hated that; I deserved no pity after what I'd done to Pete. If anything, I deserved for all of them to hate me, to look at me like I was absolute scum.

        Climbing into my bunk, I lied there motionless, staring up at the ceiling and trying my hardest not to think about anything, to clear my mind of absolutely everything. I succeeded for a little bit, that is, until a certain guy I was still crazy about pried his way back into my mind not so gracefully. I considered calling him again, maybe actually leaving a voice mail this time since I doubted he would pick up.

        Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled my phone from my pocket and called him, following the same actions I had last night, just in much quicker succession. 

        On the third ring, when I expected it to go to voice mail again, he picked up and my heart stopped a moment, skipping a beat.

        " _Patrick_?" 


	35. Chapter 35

        My eyes widened when I heard his voice, my heart missing a beat. The last thing I expected him to do was answer my call. My plan had been to leave a voice mail that would've probably ended in me a sobbing mess, apologizing and begging for him to be okay, but I hadn't even thought about what I'd say if he picked up.

        " _Pete_?" I said, mimicking his tone without even realizing what I was doing. I didn't have a clue what to say, what to tell him now that I could actually speak to him.

        "What do you want?" he asked, his tone turning harsh and unforgiving, and once again, I wished I could take it all back, make it so nothing between Gabe and I on New Year's Eve had ever happened. If only life had an undo button, then I'd be pressing the shit out of it.

        I hesitated a moment before responding, not sure what to say. What do I want? I want for Pete to come back; I want for him to be safe; I want him to be mine again; I want what happened between Gabe and I to disappear; I want for us to be  _happy,_ but I couldn't say all that, not now.

        "I want to apologi-" I started, but he cut me off almost immediately.

        "You don't get to apologize," he told me, his voice unflinching and merciless, cold and even, like he had drained himself of all feeling, become numb so he didn't have to deal with the feelings of betrayal and anger probably coursing through him. "You  _cheated_  on me. There aren't enough  _I'm sorry_ 's in the world to fix that so why don't you just shut up," he continued and this time, there was feeling, anger and resentment alongside pain, unbelievably raw pain that hurt me to hear. It was like I had just told him what I'd done all over again and his reaction cut through me like knives once more, maybe sharpened after last time because they almost seemed to hurt more.

        There aren't many things worse in this world than being cheated on, not many things that hurt more, and so that's naturally what stupid drunk me chose to do. It didn't matter that we hadn't actually slept together, didn't matter that we didn't make it all that far; I'd still done it and that's what counted. There aren't different degrees of cheating because they  _don't matter_. If it happens, it happens and it hurts like hell no matter how it happens because it's a stab in the back from the the person one loves most in the world. I just happened to be holding the knife and the combination of the alcohol and a horny Gabe had helped me stick it in Pete's back without hesitation. Now I would do anything to make that wound of his go away entirely, preferably not even leaving a scar, but that wasn't going to happen because that's not how the world works, not how people are.

        "Pete, I didn't want to hurt you," I tried to tell him, but it didn't seem like he was really listening, hurt and anger clouding his mind. "I didn't want to hurt you," I repeated, whispering this time as I felt the familiar tears well up in my eyes. I knew I was going to cry, had seen it coming, but that didn't mean I welcomed it. As I felt the bus move beneath me, the first tear fell from my eye, running down my cheek and leaving a wet trail that I could feel.

        "I know," he whispered back, his mood having suddenly changed to a softer one, one of pure hurt and I thought I heard his voice crack, "but that doesn't make it hurt any less."

        "I can't tell you how much it wish it did," I said, my voice barely a breath. I was actually surprised he'd been able to hear me, my voice so soft I wasn't entirely sure the phone would pick it up.

        He sighed and I continued, my voice raising in volume and desperation, but remaining soft. "I just want you-  _us_  to be  _happy_  again, like we used to be," I told him, and I seemed to be begging at this point, more tears falling and my words slurring. "Remember when we were happy? We were so good together for a while. On Christmas we were perfect, you, me, Hemmingway, we were like a little family and we felt  _right_  together. I want us to be like that again. I want to be a family again, as unconventional as us and a dog were. God, Pete. _I love you_." It most definitely still wasn't the right time to be saying all this, but it just seemed to pour out of me, the words a rushing river that I couldn't stop. They flowed and would continue to flow until they caused damage, I was sure of it, because that's all I did.

        "I love you and I don't want to be away from you for any longer. Pete,  _please_  come back," I pleaded, and if I were doing this in person, I'd be down on my knees.

        "I still love you too," he told me in a barely audible whisper so low I wasn't entirely sure he'd said it. "But I'm still awfully mad. You  _cheated_  on me, Patrick. That's a big deal and it fucking  _hurts_." His words were mad, but he didn't sound it. He was more defeated, tired, and that hurt more than the anger would, I thought. Maybe if he'd just yell at me, scream and curse, he'd feel better afterwards, but he seemed to the point where he wasn't even angry anymore, just sad, and that terrified me, made me think that he wouldn't ever come back to me. It's not like I deserved him, but I still held out hope.

        "At least let me know you haven't done something reckless," I asked- no,  _begged_  him. More than anything, I want him to be safe. Even if he was never mine again, I could live with myself as long as he is out of harm's way. He means more to me than myself and I will always put his safety, his needs,  _his_  wants before what I longed for. I would die for this damn boy and if I would have to remain friends with him instead of anything more, I could deal with it because I know I deserve it.

        "I'm safe, Patrick. I promise," he told me and I thought I heard a hint of a smile creeping up on his cheeks. Although he hates me right now, he was still glad I called to check on him, glad I was showing I still really did care about him despite my actions telling another story.

        "Good. Don't do something that would either hurt someone, /yourself included,/ or get you arrested," I told him because  _god_  am I worried about him. "Or worse: both."

        "Stop it, you'll give me ideas," he joked weakly, forcing out a tired laugh that wasn't entirely sincere. For a moment, it almost felt as though we were okay, but I couldn't fool myself into believing that. It just might destroy me if I did. 


	36. Chapter 36

        Pete wasn't back until 40 minutes before the show in Vegas. We'd gotten a replacement bassist and everything, had fully expected him not to return. Gabe, Andy, Joe, the replacement bassist, Glen I think he said his name was, and I were sitting backstage, waiting until they were finished setting up the stage for us when one of the security guards from the venue came in.

        "Look, dude, I'm really sorry about all this," Gabe told me, completely sincere. The five of us - mainly just Gabe and I - had been talking about the situation, Saporta never missing a chance to apologize.

        I'm not mad at him, couldn't be because it wasn't all his fault. I blame myself for most of it, for being a drunken idiot, really.

        "So am I," I told him, the words more of a sigh than anything. "I just don't know what we're supposed to do about it now."

        In came a burly security guy, arms thicker than my thighs, the t-shirt displaying the venue's name stretched tightly over his chest. He looked mean, like he could snap me in half without breaking a sweat if he wanted.

        "We've got a guy claiming to be a member of your band here trying to get in. Pete Wentz I think he said his name is," he said, the name seeming foreign on his tongue. All eyes turned to me and time seemed to stop a moment.

_Holy shit._

        I stood up quickly, my mind going a million miles a minute.  _Holy fucking shit. He's back._

        "Take me to him," I told the security guard who seemed surprised by my urgentness. "Please."

        He turned and started off down a hallway so I followed him, my heart beating wildly as if it were trying to jump straight out of my chest. He had really come back, hopefully unscathed, and definitely alive. God, I couldn't have been happier.

        We turned the last corner and he opened a door for me, leading to the fenced-in area just outside the venue where all the tour buses and such are. The guy pointed to another security guard who just so happened to be restraining a short, dark haired man with two-day-old and now barely-there eyeliner smudged around his eyes.

_Pete_.

        I ran over to him just like in all the movies, the security guard releasing him when he realized Pete was actually allowed to be here. Before he could push me away or say something to the contrary, I wrapped my arms around him in a bone crushing hug. My happiness was indescribable and overwhelming. His hands wrapped around me too and, for a moment, it didn't matter that I'd cheated, didn't matter that anything had happened between Gabe and I, because Pete had returned and he was okay and he was hugging me back.

        "Patrick, bud, I can't breathe," he choked out after a moment, a little breathless and trying not to laugh at my enthusiasm that seemed to be crushing him. He didn't seem angry at all then, and I couldn't have been happier, but I let go, stumbling back a few feet and looking up at him with a smile I couldn't restrain if I tried.

        "You're back," I said without really realizing it, gazing up at him as if he'd just descended from heaven before my very own eyes. Or, knowing Pete, ascended from Hell where he'd kicked Satan off the thrown and crowned himself.

        "Yeah, yeah I am. Just in time for the show, I hope?" he said, his voice raising a bit in pitch at the end as if it were a question.

        I nodded, still smiling as if he wasn't going to be mad at me once more in a little while, probably after the show. He looked like hell and I didn't even know if he'd still be able to perform despite coming back in time, but he seemed like he wanted to which didn't surprise me. I knew he wouldn't miss a show. Hell, half the fans came just because of him, not to mention the fact that I didn't know how to even really be a proper frontman; we couldn't do a show without him and he knew it so he came back. He didn't return to make me feel better, because I'd called and begged him, but he was back and none of that mattered for a little while. 

        "Guess I better go get cleaned up then. When are we on?" he asked me, starting towards the door that led back into the venue. I walked beside him, glancing down at my phone for the time.

        "About 35 minutes. Better hurry," I told him, not entirely serious. He could've been ready in under 10 minutes if he had to be, that's just how he is.

        We were good until after the show. Pete and I got along, acting as if we were best friends again who'd never been lovers and I definitely had never cheated on him with one of our closest friends. It was a little off putting to those around us.

        "Dude, what's going on?" Gabe had asked me in reference to Pete and I's strange behavior when Pete was busy talking to Joe a few feet away. It had been only moments before we went on, finishing up the prep on our gear.

        "No idea, but I'm just waiting for it to all collapse."

        On stage, we were normal. It didn't even remotely feel like he'd disappeared or he'd been unspeakably angry with me. The tension between the four of us seemed to dissipate and that was probably best for the fans, if not us. It seemed like he was suppressing a lot and when it came out, I couldn't help but feel like it would be explosive like a bomb going off, flattening everything it his path including our relationship and possibly even Fall Out Boy.

        But that would be a worst-case-scenario and I didn't think that would happen. Hopefully. 

        We were back on our bus by about midnight. Andy and Joe headed to bed pretty quickly, crawling into a bunk together. Thankfully, we didn't hear from them for the rest of the night. Pete had disappeared to the back of the bus doing god knows what almost immediately after we'd boarded the bus, and I was sitting on the couch, laptop balanced on my legs as I answered emails and did business stuff on the band account. It was duty Pete and I shared most of the time and it just so happened to be my week.

        Just as I was typing a reply out to an email our label had sent us about finalizing the tour with Blink-182 later this year, Pete reappeared. He stood directly in front of me, so close that his knees hit the computer, and I didn't glance up until he'd stopped moving. 

        "Yeah?" I asked, pushing my glasses up on my nose and blinking as I looked up at him.

        He sighed, running a hand through his hair which only caused it to stand on end. "Can we talk?"

        That's when I returned the sigh. I knew this was coming; I'd just been hoping to delay it as long as possible.

        "Yeah."

        I saved the email as a draft and shut the laptop, giving it to Pete who left it on the counter. When I patted the spot on the couch next to me, he sat down and I turned to face him, on leg curled up on the couch and one hanging down towards the floor.

        "Don't think for a minute I've forgiven you," he told me and my heart dropped despite having expected that, deserved it even. "But I can't hate you, as much as I try. I still love you, but what you did was like a knife to my back."

        I nodded. The words hurt, but I deserved it. One thing I thought I was glad about was that he still loved me, but I hoped that we could both get over our feelings for one another since he was probably about to leave me. It was a realization I came to in just that moment and wasn't one I ever wanted to have, but I accepted it for the same reason I accepted anything and everything he was about to say: I deserved it.

        "I really do think I hate Gabe, though," he continued, letting out a dry laugh that he didn't entirely mean. It was one of those meant to lighten the mood, but only seemed to darken it further. It was the kind of laugh one emits when they're trying not to cry. For that last reason, I was surprised I didn't return it.

        "Don't blame him-" I started before being cut off.

        "Stop. Let me say what I need to get out," he told me gently, squeezing his eyes shut as if willing himself speak. He acted as if the were shards of glass that hurt to keep in his mouth, but would hurt more to spit out. Once they were out though, he'd feel better. Not perfect because of all the wounds in his mouth, but better nonetheless.

        I feared the glass would hit me right in the face, cutting me up leaving permanent scars, but again, I deserved it.

        When he spoke, his eyes were still shut as if using all his might to force the sounds out of his being. "Patrick, what you did hurt me. _A lot._  And I don't know when I'll be over it and ready to let you back in, if ever."

        If ever.

_If ever._

         _Ouch_. But I kept quiet, knowing I deserved every bit of glass that hit my face. That one, I thought, had grazed my cheek.

        "I think it wold be best for us if we took a break. Not really end it, but maybe just return to friends for a while, at least until I work all this out in my head."

        I was numb, all the reaction and feeling having left my body with that first sentence. All I could do was nod in compliance. I told myself I'd accept this, and I would despite that shard having lodged itself straight in my eye.


	37. Chapter 37

It had been over a month - closer to a month and a half - since Pete and I decided a break would be best for the two of us. Tonight is the last show of our tour and everyone seemed to be in high spirits because of that. Well, maybe everyone except Pete and I. Our situation was taking a toll on the both of us, but we'd been pretty good about not being _too_ awkward around each other, especially on stage.

Around Gabe, however, Pete was nothing if not hostile. This had completely destroyed his and Pete's friendship and I only added that to the list of things I felt bad about lately, only added to the weight I felt like I was carrying around on my back as if I were a mule. I kept telling myself that all of this would eventually repair itself and we'd all go back to normal, but that didn't seem to be the case quite yet. However, I repeated the lie in my head like a mantra as if that would make it eventually come true.

On the other hand, Andy and Joe were doing great. Their relationship was flourishing and they couldn't be happier together. They were the very definition of cute and couple-ey.

They made me sick.

I couldn't stand to be around the two of them when they were together because I knew Pete and I had been exactly like that and it only made me miss our intimacy. The closest we've been since we fell apart is on stage when all of the problems between us seemed to dissipate and he was back to leaning his head on my shoulder, pushing himself uncomfortably close, and just generally acting like an annoying girlfriend.

It was a good annoying, though; it's exactly the kind of annoying I had been missing so much on this tour. I didn't think I'd ever get him back, though, not at the rate we're going now. Which, I guess I deserve it, but god, do I miss him and everything about him - even the parts that used to drive me crazy.

"On in 5!" a stagehand called to the four of us standing just off to the side, instruments already in hand, earpieces falling down onto our shoulders. Pete was sitting on one of the gearboxes, doing something on his phone in which he was completely absorbed. Andy was having a conversation with one of the sound guys, talking about who knows what.

Joe glanced between Pete and I, examining the distance that seemed larger and larger with each passing second. Even if he'd been standing right next to me, he would still feel a million miles away and that was my fault.

"So what's the latest on you two?" he asked me after a moment, seeming genuinely interested. I couldn't help but wish he hadn't asked, though, because I really had no clue.

I laughed a little, shaking my head. "Absolutely no idea," I told him, glancing over at the other man in question.

Joe raised an eyebrow, shooting me a doubtful look.

"I mean, he hardly even talks to me. I have no idea what he's thinking," I admitted and it felt a bit like high school, gossiping about boys all over again. Except this time it really meant something.

Joe hesitated a moment, seeming to study Pete's features from across the room. "I think he _wants_ to forgive you. He's just hurt," he told me, shrugging a little as if he didn't want me to take it words too seriously because maybe he didn't believe them himself.

I want to think he's right, but that is not the kind of vibe I get from Pete most of the time. "I don't know," I told Joe, not disagreeing or agreeing because that seemed like the easiest approach, "I hope that's it."

He opened his mouth to respond but that's when we were given the cue to head out on stage and he was cut off. Maybe I'll try to get Pete to talk to me tonight after the show, figure out what's going on in that head of his. Joe's idea seems like a best-case scenario, though, and this situation doesn't seem too best-case to me.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey Pete?" I spoke up while in our dressing room that night after the show. We were gathering our stuff up to pack back onto the buses and take home. We were leaving at midnight and should be back home in Chicago by early morning. Personally, I couldn't wait to sleep in a real bed and get some of my alone time back. Plus, maybe some time away from Pete would be a good thing.

He grunted in response like he didn't want to talk but didn't want to put forth the effort of pretending to not have heard me.

"What're you thinking?" I asked, deciding straightforward was the best course of action. It always seemed to be the best idea with Pete; he was never one to beat around the bush too much. "I mean, in regards to you and me."

He shrugged, grabbing a shirt and throwing it into his suitcase, refusing to look at me. "I don't know," he mumbled, closed off and tired, the latter probably not as severe as he was pretending.

I sighed, feeling like I was talking to a wall and started to pack up my own shit. "No idea? Not even a guesstimation?" I asked, a hint of frustration leaking into my tone. I guess I didn't have any right to be frustrated; I cheated on him and he was still healing, but I've never been the most patient person.

He sighed then too, finally looking up to meet my gaze. He held it a moment before speaking, his tone frank and near exhaustion as if he'd stayed up way too late on way too many occasions rolling thoughts about this subject around in his head. "Patrick, you hurt me. I'm just not sure what to think right now because I used to trusted you more than anyone and now I don't feel like I can. I need space and now that this tour's over, I might be able to figure some shit out. Just stop breathing down my neck."


	38. Chapter 38

I am definitely not breathing down Pete's neck. I mean, I haven't even spoken to the little fucker since we got back to Chicago a month ago, not really. There had been small interactions - strictly business and usually with another person as a buffer. He still emails me snippets of lyrics, basically just what he needs to get out of his head, and I still play around with them, try to make sense of them, but something is off. We just aren't working like we used to.

The distance between us scares me. I try to not let it get to me, but it does. My biggest fear right now is the two of us never going back to how we were and it feels all too real lately. I don't deserve him, I know I don't, but that doesn't stop me from wanting him.

The last email I got from him was just two lines of lyrics with no explanation, no little note or anything from him to accompany them. Just the lyrics. It really wasn't that strange, not for Pete, but the lyrics themselves bothered me.

  _I just want to be better than your head's only medicine_  


  _Lunatic of a god or a god of a lunatic?_  


It seemed as if he was self-destructing, imploding upon himself, and this time I couldn't help him. He wouldn't let me in, wouldn't return any of my texts or calls or emails or anything because I'm the source of his problems and if you eliminate the source, you eliminate the problem, right? The scary thing is, I'm usually the one to help him when he gets like this, was the only one that could do it quickly enough so he didn't do himself any damage. If he won't speak to me, I can't help him.

I had texted Joe yesterday to see if he had heard anything from Pete and the conversation had given me no new information.

  _> Hey, have you heard anything from Pete? He won't talk to me._  


  _> Jesus: You sound a bit like a desperate ex..._  


  _> Jesus: But no, I haven't. _  


  _> Ok. I'm kind of worried about him. The lyrics he's been sending me are pretty dark._  


  _> Jesus: He's probably fine. Just give him time. That's what he asked you for, right?_  


  _> Yeah, I just can't shake the feeling that he's in a bad place._  


  _> Jesus: He probably is, but who wouldn't be after all that's happened. Its probably not a bad place quite like an episode is._  


  _> Hopefully_  


That had been the end of the conversation. I hadn't asked Andy, maybe he had talked to him. Or maybe he had finally emailed me back. Probably neither, but both were a possibility.

I decided I would check my email and if there was nothing, then I'd text Andy. If nothing else, we had a studio day next week where he'd be forced to speak to me. We wouldn't be there long - we're just recording a couple demos - but it's crucial for Pete and I to speak while in the studio. Still, there was a knot in the pit of my stomach slowly forming.

I opened up my email only to be greeted with another email from him. It was probably just lyrics so I didn't get too hopeful as it loaded, but it was something.

  _A downward spiral, just a pirouette_  


  _Getting worse until nothing's left_  


Figures. Lyrics. More dark lyrics that only made me worry more. Fuck you, Pete. Fuck you and your cryptic lines of shitty poetry.

I shut my laptop probably a little too violently and pulled my phone out in search of Andy's contact. So what if I sound like a desperate ex? That's what I am, I realized, and the thought was a sobering one.

  _> Hey, Pete won't talk to me. Have you heard anything from him?_  


I dropped my phone on my couch and stormed into the bathroom. I was angry at Pete and angry at myself, but most of all, disappointed in myself. It's like I was telling Joe the story all over again, the sick feeling building in my stomach, but this time I felt hot instead of cold. I felt as if I could break out into a sweat any moment now and I wasn't sure if it would be a nervous sweat or... _what the hell other kind of sweat is there?_  


My world was crumbling around me and the debris was landing right on top of me in the form of guilt and anger and disappointment and every other negative feeling out there. I wasn't going to puke this time, but it seemed I was in serious danger of overheating.

When I turned on the faucet - just the cold, I needed something cool on my face - my hands were shaking to the point that it was difficult to get a grip on the handle. The water rushed out of the spout in a fury, falling down into the sink with a force that pushed my hands down when I stuck them in the stream.

I splashed water up onto my face, the action as difficult as it would have been if I had a mild form of Parkinson's disease. One, two, three handfuls of water onto my face as I count the seconds passing, trying to focus, to ground myself in reality. My hands bracing myself on either side of the sink, I kept my head down in fear of seeing my reflection in the mirror, my eyes squeezed shut and breathing heavy. The only sound in the house at the moment was the running water and that filled my ears and acted as the white noise I needed.

My phone buzzed sometime later. I don't know how long it had been, but it felt like hours had passed, felt like the sun should be below the horizon by now.

After another deep breath or two, I opened my eyes and grabbed a towel, drying my face. _Well, that was a rational reaction, Patrick_ , I thought to myself with a mental eye roll as I made my way back into my living room. My phone chirped again as I approached it, the screen lighting up with two unread texts from Andy.

  _> Princess: No, but Joe says you're acting like a desperate ex?_  


  _> Princess: I just texted him and he responded right away._  


So it really is just me that he's ignoring. Some little part of my brain had hoped that there was some crazy reason he wasn't replying to me. Maybe his phone wasn't working and my emails just weren't going through - not a single one of them, but that clearly wasn't the case.

~~~~~~~

I pulled up in the studio parking lot 10 minutes later than I was supposed to be there. When I got inside, Joe pushed the both of us back out the door before I could even say anything. Pete hadn't even looked up - Andy had been sure to hold his attention. Joe shut the door behind us so that it didn't make a sound.

Outside, trees blocked us from the view of cars passing on the road but Joe still spoke in a low tone like he was afraid someone could overhear or he was delivering some tough news. "Pete, he's not- well, he's not _good_. He was talking to Andy earlier and - this is news he should be telling you - and he is not thinking positively about you to say the least," he told me, the words appearing as if they physically hurt him to say. He and Andy had wished the best for us, they really had, but I'd gone and fucked it all up, ruined every chance Pete and I ever had of being good together.

Joe hesitated a split second as if he'd had something else to say but decided against it. Instead, he just headed back inside as I trailed him.

For the most part, things went pretty normally until I tried to talk to Pete about some of the lyrics he'd sent me and how I'd arranged and changed them into something halfway legible. What triggered him is when I called them 'dark.'

"Dark?" he asked, eyebrows approaching his hairline. "They're not that dark."

"They kind of are," I countered lightly, knowing this probably wasn't the fight I wanted to pick. " _Getting worse until nothing's left_? That's a little dark."

"I believe you changed it to _getting worse til there's nothing left_ ," he spat back like a toddler, picking on the little details with words unnecessarily sharp.

"Either way, it's not like you'd have me singing happy lyrics."

"I'm sorry. If you wanted _happy_ lyrics, maybe you shouldn't have cheated on me."

His words caught me off guard. We both knew this fight had been about that, not the lyrics, but shit. Pete and I fought in the studio a lot, but this is different. This is band-breakup level different.

Andy and Joe stood back, watching in horror as this went down, probably wondering what this meant for them.

"Pete," I nearly whispered, "I was _drunk_. It didn't mean a thing and you know it." The pain and desperation in my voice was obvious to my own ears, glaringly so. I really am the desperate, lovesick, disgusting ex.

His voice matched my own in the pain department when he spoke back up. "But you still did it. You think I can get over it just because you didn't mean it? Just because you were drunk? You're dead fucking wrong. You nearly slept with one of our best friends."

"I _know_. It makes me physically sick just thinking about it half the time."

"Half the time isn't enough," he said, his tone sad and barely audible as if he was ashamed to have said it, sad that he would even think that.

"What?"

He bit his lip, debating whether or not to actually say it again.

"I wish it made you sick _every single fucking time_ you thought about it," he told me, his words biting and harsh and all too audible. "Because looking at you or him nearly makes me sick." He swallowed hard, as if realizing the impact of his words as he saw my reaction: one of pure, unadulterated shock and hurt.

"Pete, I-" I started, but he cut me off and I wasn't sure if it was out of disgust and anger or his unwillingness to listen to my voice crack for fear he might lose his nerve.

"No, Patrick, I can't stand to even be in the same room as you anymore," he told me as if the fact pained him, truly hurt him. "I love you, but I hate that I do. Your face causes me so much pain and I-" he stopped then, glancing over at Joe and Andy with an apologetic look in his eyes before turning his attention back to me. "And I can't stand to be in a band with someone who does that to me."

My eyes widened and I think my heart might've skipped a beat or two. I didn't have to look at Andy and Joe - couldn't even if I wanted to because my entire body had frozen, my gaze locked on the man I love - to know their expressions mirrored my own.

"Wait, wait, wait. Pete. What the fuck are you saying?" Andy spoke up several long moments later, the first to come out of the shock.

"I-I've been doing a lot of thinking and..." he started, his voice shaking as if this decision hurt him to make, "And I quit. I quit Fall Out Boy and I quit Patrick."

He glanced between the three of us then, biting his lip, before turning and walking out the door.


	39. Epilogue

The song we'd been working on that day in the studio came to be known as _Symphony of the Overdosed_ between Andy, Joe, and I as we worked on it. We wrote without Pete - something I hadn't done in a long time - but he gave us his notebooks and responded to our questions via text and we spent a lot of time in the studio putting songs together we planned to release as a farewell to our fans.

The three of us knew we couldn't stay Fall Out Boy without Pete. We didn't want to officially call it quits, though. We all still held out hope that Pete and I would someday be okay together again. That someday seemed like a near impossibility, though none of us voiced that concern. That would make it real.

Pete did, however, agree to finish out our tour with Blink-182 later this year along with any other shows we already had scheduled and we booked a Madison Square Garden show as our last gig before we, well, before we quit.

Nearly a month after that show, we released a greatest hits album with _Symphony of the Overdosed_ (known to the fans as _From Now On We Are Enemies_ ) as our farewell song, our proper goodbye. We decided we had to change the name because _Symphony_ was too personal of a title, held too many secrets of the four of our's to share. Instead, it became a lyric.

Officially, the reason we stopped being Fall Out Boy was the lack of success on _Folie_. Touring for that album was admittedly brutal, but it alone wasn't enough to make us break up. The real credit goes to Pete and I's fight.

Gabe felt unbelievably guilty. He felt like he was the reason the band ended, but of course he didn't tell me that because he and I had pretty much stopped speaking to each other. The only one of the four of us he still occasionally talked to was Joe.

And, for that matter, the four of _us_ didn't even talk that much. Andy, Joe, and I still occasionally call each other up or go out for dinner, and they still spoke to Pete, but Pete and I haven't spoken at all since that last show. The only two that remained as close as they had been while touring was Andy and Joe and that's because they were a couple.

Joe and I were out at a Japanese restaurant when he told me he was planning on proposing to Andy. I congratulated him and he, in turn, thanked me for getting the two of them together. He told me that without Pete and I going at it that night on the bus, he never would've made advances toward Andy. He also asked me to be his best man.

I guess they were the one good product of Pete and I's relationship.


End file.
